Heart of the Mountain
by annarien
Summary: Sequel to and direct continuation of "Never trust an Elf" and "Always trust an Elf". Third installment of the trilogy, in which Thorin's company and the Fëanorians reach Erebor and find the 'Heart of the Mountain'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Here it is, the last installment of what has become a much bigger and longer story than I had imagined I would ever write in The Hobbit fandom. Thanks to the talkative muses, "Heart of the Mountain" begins here and follows directly after the events in "Never trust an Elf" and "Always trust an Elf". Follow the Elves and the Dwarves and find out what new adventures await them!  
**

**"Heart of the Mountain" is written from different perspectives, which means we will have more than just Bilbo's point of view to see things from. For example, in this first chapter, we are in Fili's PoV.**

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1

"I will find you," Fëanor promised one last time. He raised his hand in farewell, his eyes moving from his sons to Thorin. A small smile tugged the Elf's lips as he nodded and then spurred his mount into a run. Caranthir and Curufin and Maglor and Maedhros followed, chasing after their father and the two wizards already some way ahead.

Thorin would not give the signal to depart nor move until the Elves disappeared in a cloud of dust, galloping under the eaves of the forest and hurrying south. Even when the dust settled and the thundering of that cavalcade faded in the shimmering summer air, Thorin said nothing and Fili approached him hesitantly. He had not seen such a look in his uncle's eyes since he had parted from his sister and the handful of people in the Blue Mountains that Thorin held close to his heart. Thorin had beheld Fili's mother with the same kind of desperate intensity almost a lifetime ago... or so Fili felt. To see such emotion brimming under Thorin's carefully composed expression and to know an Elf had put it there still struck the young Dwarf as nothing short of a miracle. But there it was and nobody dared disturb Thorin, although the ponies swished their tails, snorted and paced about, more than ready to be gone.

"We should go, daylight is growing," Celegorm led his horse before Thorin, blocking his view south. "Believe me, my heart breaks to see them go as well, but waiting here won't mend it," the Elf said in a softer voice, riding closer to Thorin and wishing to pat the Dwarf's shoulder.

Thorin gave an irritated growl and tugged on the reins, his pony turning sharply away from Celegorm's chestnut mare. The Elf sighed and shrugged one shoulder when he met Fili's eyes. Fili smiled briefly and made a mental note to tell Celegorm that speaking of Elves and heartbreak to Thorin was not a very good idea.

"Lead the way," Thorin motioned Celegorm to ride to the front of the convoy. The demand itself was a matter of wonder but Celegorm had told them that the Old Forest Road was somewhat familiar to him. He had made the journey through Mirkwood and back some ten years before and when Thorin demanded to know what business the blond had in that part of the world, Celegorm smirked and said "Dorwinion wine, what else?"

Even though he claimed all Elves were shameless lushes, Thorin appointed Celegorm as their guide and inquired after the state of the old road. As they all stood at the edge of the forest, the road opened before them like a funnel, growing narrower as the eye traced it in a straight line. Trees of all kinds - large, gnarled, ominous trees - loomed on both sides of the overgrown track and even as he sat with the summer sun warming his face, Fili shuddered with apprehension. Over two hundred miles of that road, with the ill-will of Mirkwood closing in on them and the creatures Radagast had warned them against on the prowl, made for a very reluctant Dwarf. One look at the others and Fili could see they were not much better off.

But they all had to overcome their apprehension and take the first tentative steps on the next leg of their great journey. It was August the first, the beginning of a new month and as good a start as any. However, nobody could tell for sure how long the company would travel before emerging on the other side of the great forest. At best, a fortnight, taking into consideration the weight each pony bore on its back and the state they found the Men-i-Naugrim in. That estimation did _not_ take into consideration the hidden perils before them and no doubt Mirkwood had a few nasty surprises lying in wait for the travelers.

Fili nudged his pony into a light trot, trying to catch up with Kili and his uncle at the head of the convoy. They had a number of eighteen ponies, fourteen of them carrying a rider and his heavy pack, while the other four bore no less weight in supplies. Celegorm and his brothers rode three of Beorn's horses, the rest of them having gone to their kinsmen and the two wizards.

For four days, both Elves and Dwarves and even little Bilbo had worked from dusk till dawn and well into the night, to get everything ready. It had continued to be a sad affair, but also an imperative to make the most of Beorn's belongings. And so, for days, they had all carved meat, boiled it, fried it, salted it, smoked it and tried to dry it as best as time allowed. Neither the Elves nor the Dwarves had turned up their noses at each other's recipes, working together with an ease that Fili found amazing and very, very welcome. By the eve of their last day in Beorn's household, the company's packs were filled with meats and cheeses and jams and honey pots and cakes and something resembling way bread that Fëanor and his sons had spent a lot of time baking.

The Elves took little with them, saying they would have opportunities to hunt on their way south, whereas in the forest, game would be scarce and dangerous to pursue, much less attempt to eat. For the same reasons, most of the flasks and bottles had been filled with water instead of wine or ale. Several streams crossed the Old Forest Road and others ran beneath the eaves of the wood not far from the road, but both wizards had strongly advised them to pick their water carefully when their mounts needed to drink and take as few chances as possible. But Fili was certain his friends had secretly taken at least one barrel of ale or wine, as Fili himself had cleverly hidden one of both among his belongings. No doubt, the stuffiness of the wood would require something to pick up their spirits from time to time.

Adjusting the straps of his heavy pack, the young Dwarf nudged his brother gently and together, they set foot inside Mirkwood for the first time in their lives.

...

Contrary to their expectations, Thorin's company journeyed along the Men-i-Naugrim with little disturbance. The first day and especially the night that followed were the most difficult, as they felt and heard the hostile woods all around them. They made a tight little camp right in the middle of the road and few of them slept even after a long day's ride. The trees seem to creak and shudder and made all manner of disquieting noises and Fili became convinced that they were somehow talking to each other. No amount of reasoning from Celegorm and the twins could convince him otherwise.

And then... there was the matter of other noises. Chitters and chatters and slithers and scuttles and creaks and groans and hoots and yowls and more besides lead Fili to believe that the darkness among those closed-in trees was alive with creatures he had no wish to see. On both sides of the road, even in daylight, the bushes rustled and the foliage crackled and above their heads, the low hanging branches sometimes swayed, although no wind stirred the stuffy air.

But whatever watched the company let them pass unmolested for days. And if the firelight sometimes flickered in many beady eyes hidden in the undergrowth, nothing came forth to test their vigilance and the sharpness of their weapons.

Sometimes, when restlessness grew and the ill-boding silence threatened to drown their spirits, the Elves sang softly, murmuring words in their own tongue and then, as though by some miracle, the forest withdrew. At other times, Thorin or Balin would tell the others tales about the ancient road. They would say it had crossed the forest since time out of mind, before the dawn of the Second Age even. The Longbeards, Durin's people, had built it as a travel and traffic route between their mansions in the Iron Hills and the Kingdom of Khazad-dum. In those days, the Dwarves had known wealth and power and glory such as had never been seen before or since, when mountains and forests and rivers yielded before their craft. They had built a mighty bridge over the Anduin to mark the halfway point between the eastern gates of Khazad-dum and the sacred Mount Gundabad. Over that bridge, the hosts of Gil-Galad and Elendil had marched to the last of the great battles that ended an age. They had been the Last Alliance of Elves and Men and Dwarves, with countless warriors pouring in from Khazad-dum to help defeat Sauron.

As he listened to his people's histories, Fili felt all-encompassing pride swell in him. He was no stranger to those tales; he had begged his elders to recount them and to give him books of lore, always dreaming he was one of the great heroes, one of the great kings of yore. But as he walked along the Men-i-Naugrim astride his pony, Fili realized he had become one of those heroes. He was part of something much bigger than himself, perhaps the last great stand of Durin's line. His eyes welled up with longing for the ancient glory of his people and the unquenchable desire to see it restored. For the first time since he had embarked on the journey, Fili truly understood his uncle and felt the weight of their shared legacy driving them forward without delay.

The dragon would be slain, Fili vowed to himself. Their home would be won back and brought to even greater beauty than before. Like a polished gem, it would emerge from the mire of that despicable worm and even with just twelve of his people, Thorin would see it done. Fili would see it done.

But his brother soon yanked him out of glorious dreams, drawing closer to him and pointing out giant webs and strands of spider silk hanging between branches and across the road. Where their advance had been blocked only by undergrowth before, as they walked beneath the roots of mountains in the north, it had become barred with cobwebs of unimaginable size. As the Elves and Dwalin and Bifur carved a path for the company, Kili squeezed his brother's arm, looking at him with disbelief in his round eyes.

"We've heard tales of giant spiders, but I never thought they'd be this huge! Can you imagine the size of these things?" Kili whispered.

"No. But I imagine we'll see for ourselves soon enough," Fili said, wishing he'd been able to come up with something more comforting, especially since Bilbo had instinctively drawn closer to him as well.

"This is beginning to remind me of Nan Dungortheb, the Valley of Dreadful Death in Beleriand," Amras told them as he rode back, picking cobwebs off himself. "Only... those spiders were much bigger. Everything was much bigger in the First Age," he said with a crooked grin when he saw the many pale faces of his companions.

But fortune favored Thorin's company and the spiders of Mirkwood did them little harm. In the deeper shadows cast by the mountains, they watched with many eyes, hungry and impatient, but wary of such a large group of travelers and especially of the Elvish blades. The only loss the company endured on their account was an unfortunate pony that got snatched in the dead of night with hardly a whisper in the trees. After that, Thorin divided the group in shifts and one slept while the other stood guard, keeping their animals behind a fence of blades.

The only other incident Fili would always remember - and both laugh and shudder about - involved snakes. He woke earliest one morning and began to rouse the others around him when he caught sight of something that had him nearly tripping on his own feet. Amrod lay on his back at the edge of their camp, his eyes open but vacant, lips parted although no breath seemed to pass through them and, to Fili's horror; he had a dark-colored snake coiled around his neck. On Amrod's chest, there were more snakes, smaller and huddled together.

To Fili, the Elf looked fairly dead and he panicked, shouting for his brothers. But, to the young Dwarf's relief, Amrod stirred at the sound of his voice. Awareness seeped back into his eyes and he raised himself slowly, setting the smaller snakes down on the grass. When the Elf's voice came out in a raspy whisper, the larger snake began to uncoil itself. Celegorm gave Amrod a drink and set the snake free himself, smiling proudly at his little brother.

"It didn't mean any harm," Amrod coughed to clear his throat. "It just wanted some warmth for itself and its babies in this dark place. Although I have to say, that was the tightest collar I've ever worn," he rubbed his neck gingerly.

"Oh, come off it, that snake was too small to choke you," Celegorm patted his brother's shoulder and both Elves laughed at their gaping companions.

"Weird, creepy Elves!" Kili muttered. "Is there anything normal about you?"

The brothers merely laughed some more and brushed the whole incident off like nothing out of the ordinary, but Fili was sure he would never be able to get those images out of his mind.

However, such things did not count as true peril and by the time the thirteenth day on the Old Forest Road dawned, Dwalin chuckled in his beard, scoffing at the wizards' warning. Mirkwood had been unpleasant, but nowhere near as impassable as Radagast had made it out to be. At last, the trees on either side of the road began to thin and they could hear a river flowing in the distance. There, the Men-i-Naugrim crossed a strip of marshland, at the confluence between the river Running and a stream that tumbled down from the Emyn-nu-fuin. They had made it to the eastern borders of Mirkwood in good health and good time and Thorin was pleased.

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**A/N: ****For the sake of no longer using those confusing Quenya names for the Fëanorians, I have decided to refer to them by their Sindarin names, even when we are in the perspective of those (like Fili), who do not know the Elves by those names... yet.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's a little reminder of the (many!) Fëanorian names given in Quenya (along with their nicknames) and the more familiar Sindarin counterparts**

**Fëanáro Curufinwë = Fëanor**

**Nelyafinwë Maitimo (Nelyo) = Maedhros**

**Canafinwë Makalaurë (Káno) = Maglor**

**Turkafinwë Tyelkormo (Turko) = Celegorm**

**Morifinwë Carnistir (Moryo) = Caranthir**

**Curufinwë Atarinkë (Kurvo) = Curufin**

**Pityafinwë Ambarussa (Pityo) = Amrod**

**Telufinwë Ambarussa (Telvo) = Amras**

**Because the ****Fëanorians will speak to each other using their various names.**

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2

The veil of night had long fallen over the world and bright stars pierced it in the clear heavens, but nobody in their company slept. On one side of him, Maedhros heard the low murmur of Gandalf and Radagast deep in conversation. They were also deep in a shroud of smoke from Beorn's supply of leaf and Maedhros thanked the winds for blowing those fumes away from him. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to comprehend why those mortals indulged in such a foul habit and how the wise Istari had been tricked into picking it up as well. Perhaps it had been for the sake of blending in where their travels took them, but still, it made no sense to Maedhros why someone would want to inhale something that blackened the innards and addled the wits, in some cases.

Closer to Maedhros and in the light of their little fire, Caranthir and Curufin sharpened all their blades, going about it meticulously and with great care. The rhythmic grind of whetstone against steel seemed to have a soothing quality to it and Maedhros guessed that his brothers applied themselves to that task to keep their hands occupied and their minds blank. To stave off the restlessness that grew with each day they rode closer to the Necromancer's lair, perhaps. Nobody knew better than them what the calm before the storm was like, how burdensome that last breath before the plunge felt. Maedhros wished that they would get to Dol Guldur sooner, although he did not entertain any foolish hope that dispatching the Necromancer would be easy business. Not when he knew full well who this Necromancer was and what kind of danger they were riding into.

Gandalf had never openly admitted it before Thorin or any of the Dwarves - not even when he'd returned Thrain's map and key to Thorin - but he knew that the so-called Necromancer was none other than the world's greatest foe since Morgoth had been imprisoned in the Void. When the wizards had come to ask for their aid in freeing Mirkwood of that menace, Maedhros, his father and his brothers had fully understood the danger they'd been set up for, but one lie had to pay for another and one good deed would hopefully wash away many fell ones. During the First Age, Sauron would not be dispatched unless a whole army of the Eldar assailed him, but Gandalf claimed to have been in Dol Guldur twice and each time, the fallen Maia had given way. Apparently, Sauron was not strong enough, not yet and not without his chief weapon. But unless they had that very weapon, Sauron could also never be fully destroyed and the best Maedhros could hope for was driving evil forth from the woods, tearing down its defenses and chasing it into the barren lands of the east.

The Istari would combine their strength and the grace gifted to them as they set out as guardians of the wide world. Together, they purposed to drive out Sauron and they counted on the Elves to shield them against lesser foes: giant spiders and huge vampire bats that Radagast had talked about and, most threatening of all, the shadows of malice that flitted around the fortress and the wizards believed to be the Nazgul already gathered around their master. Maedhros and his kinsmen were expected to fight them off and, if possible, survive to tell the tale. As such, small wonder that none of them slept and anxiety grew with each day spent on horseback.

Maglor had tried to sing something, but his voice faltered and he grew quiet, wrapped from head to toe in his cloak. Maedhros could see him as a shadow in the light of the fire but his brother's stillness did not fool him. There was little peace for him as well.

But none of them were probably as restless and high strung as their father. Throughout the past few days, Maedhros had begun to see in his father traces of the Elf he'd used to be in another lifetime. The angry one, closed off and silent, sitting aside and turning over unhappy thoughts. For that alone Maedhros hated the wizards with a passion. But there was little he could do against it, unless it was to try and coax Fëanor closer to the fire and convince him to rest a little.

He sat up and walked to his father, barely making his huddled shape out from the tall grasses that surrounded him. Fëanor sat with his hands folded atop his knees and his chin resting on them, his cloak thrown over his shoulders. He did not move and his eyes continued to stare into the empty darkness when Maedhros stood before him. With a sigh, the younger Elf flattened the grass at his father's side, sitting close to him and folding his long limbs in like manner.

"Is there any chance I can persuade you to join us by the fire and sleep for an hour or two?" Maedhros said, his voice soft and hushed.

Fëanor made no sign of even hearing his words, much less acknowledging them.

"Of course not. When have I ever been able to make you rest?" Maedhros chuckled dryly. "Tell me what you are thinking about, then. Perhaps we can share the burden of our worries."

Fëanor sat so still that even his breath seemed to have ceased.

"Alright, then. How about I tell you what you are thinking of? You could at least deign to blink in acknowledgement; I know you can hear me."

At that, his father blinked once, his eyes still fixed on some imaginary foe in the distance and his brow seemed shadowed with worry.

"It can't be the Necromancer... or Sauron, or whatever name that vile thing goes by these days. You said it yourself; we have enough power between us to drive him out. And he is at the utmost waning of his ancient glory. That can't be what has you gnawing over worries like this."

Fëanor took a deep breath and expelled it in what sounded like a sigh and could have meant anything.

"You're looking back rather than forward," Maedhros turned toward his father and the growing moonlight made it easier for him to discern whatever emotion Fëanor let pass over his face. "It's my brothers that you're thinking of."

Fëanor's eyes shifted northward briefly in confirmation, before he resumed his motionless scrutiny of the darkness ahead. To an outsider it might have appeared as though the two were playing an absurd game, but Maedhros enjoyed being able to guess his father's thoughts and it was not the first time he had gotten closer to the truth before a single word passed Fëanor's lips.

"You are worried about the darkness of Mirkwood but surely, the closer we come to the source, the more Sauron will draw his servants to himself and leave the travelers unmolested," Maedhros said, catching the way his father slowly lowered his eyes. "And the boys know their way through the woods. Remember all the excellent wine they brought back with them?" Maedhros smiled and thought he saw his father's lips twitching. "And Celegorm told you to be happy wine was all he picked up and not a stray man as well. I never quite understood what he meant by that. Did you?"

Fëanor replied with a minute shake of his head, but Maedhros saw a fond smile shining in his father's eyes.

"They will be alright. They can fend for themselves far better than anyone and those Dwarves are not exactly babies, you know? They will hold their own and protect my brothers if need be. Unless of course, it is precisely the Dwarves you are worried about. Perhaps one of them in particular?" Maedhros inquired, encouraged by the way his father looked at him from the corner of his eye. "Now we get to it," the younger Elf smiled. "It's Thorin Oakenshield that's on your mind, is he not? You miss him."

Fëanor's head turned sharply and he glared at his son, but Maedhros chuckled softly, brushing off his father's indignant reaction for the false thing it was.

"I miss them too, you know? And who would have thought? Remember how we used to turn up our noses or laugh at the hairy little nuisances a while ago? How we took bets how long before one of us would slip and call them something unforgivable for being so messy and rude and annoying? Well, look at us now. I miss those rascals and even that little troublemaker from the Shire."

Fëanor cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at Maedhros.

"Don't worry about Bilbo. You know he wouldn't dare breathe a word about us. I'm fairly sure it's slipped his mind completely by now. There is still resentment in him, but I think we've proved our worth time and time again and he'd sooner have us on his side than against him. Besides, Turko is there. He won't let anything go amiss."

His father welcomed the reassurance with a hint of a smile and Maedhros nodded.

"But maybe it's you who wishes he hadn't lied so much. How about that, father?"

Fëanor sighed deeply and returned to his initial position, his chin propped on his folded arms and his expression inscrutable again.

"You do, don't you? Wish you hadn't lied. Or wished you didn't have to lie. Or, perhaps, you wish you'd found it in yourself to tell the truth before you and Thorin were parted. But you can't. On one hand you know you'll lose whatever friendship you two have struck and on the other hand, it'll all have been for nothing. One way or another, we must keep this pretense up until we have the Silmaril. Then... you'll just have to try your luck and see if there is anything to be salvaged between you and the Dwarf king."

"Valar, Nelyo! Must you be so cruel? Do you think I need to hear all this now?" Fëanor answered gruffly.

"I don't mean to hurt you; I am merely voicing your own conflicting thoughts."

"You could just _shut up_," Fëanor huffed and gave his son a petulant look.

"Not while you sulk and grow darker everyday, I won't. If not even a fallen Maia is enough to draw you from brooding about Thorin Oakenshield, then I'm sorry, but I will be the voice of reason no matter how much it angers you."

"Voice of reason," Fëanor scoffed. "You can't possibly say anything I have not thought about a thousand times already. All you do is make it worse, so if you love me, hold your tongue."

Maedhros bit back the reply bubbling on his lips and gave his father a sympathetic look. Fëanor's friendship with Thorin Oakenshield was an unforeseen development and just as much of a complication as Celegorm's attachment to Thorin's nephew. Both would suffer for that and Maedhros hated knowing that he would probably have to pick up the pieces. But, in a perverse sense of justice, it seemed like a fair price to pay for the betrayal that would hurt the Dwarves just as much, if not more. Still, he could not possibly say that to his father. Least of all that night, while Fëanor sat and sulked and probably needed a hug more than anything else.

With an inward shrug, Maedhros moved closer and put an arm around his father's shoulders, drawing him into the hug in spite of Fëanor's stiff reluctance. Sighing, the older Elf finally relented and shook his son's hand off, pulling Maedhros into a hug instead. Maedhros chuckled and laid his head on his father's shoulder, although the position was quite uncomfortable. They sat like that in companionable silence for a few moments and Maedhros relented as well, giving his father the peace and quiet he'd asked for. Or at least the quiet and some measure of comfort, hopefully.

More silent and softer than the wind in the grasses, Curufin crept up on them.

"What's this?" he whispered. "Family time and nobody's invited me?"

Both Fëanor and Maedhros chuckled and Fëanor patted the empty space at his side. With a grin, Curufin tucked himself into his father's side, making his older brother laugh inwardly. Slithery little Curufin, always wanting his father's attention and his affection. Some things truly never changed, although nobody really grudged Curufin any of it.

It did not take the other two much time to see something was going on and they came to investigate. Maglor ruffled his little brother's hair, drawing an annoyed hiss from Curufin. He knelt behind his father and spread his arms like wings, taking all three of them in a wide embrace. True to his nature, Caranthir was not quite so easy to persuade. He stood before the pile, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised.

"What is this madness?" he asked. "Cuddling like a bunch of kids? You want the wizards to think we're completely cracked? Or scared out of our wits?"

"We are discussing battle tactics, Morifinwë Carnistir, you little shit," Fëanor replied in a very accurate imitation of Dwalin, voice and accent and all. "Now, find a spot for yourself and huddle up, you don't want any spies of Sauron to hear our master plan."

Caranthir blinked repeatedly, trying to come up with a scathing reply that would be sharp enough to sting but not to earn him a smacking. He rolled his eyes and groaned, shoving Curufin out of the way and leaning against his father. Curufin grumbled mightily and put as much weight on Caranthir as he could as he settled back into the Elf-pile.

"So, what's the plan?" Maglor whispered above them.

"The plan, according to your dear brother, is to sit here and hug the daylights out of each other," Fëanor shook Maedhros slightly. "Apparently, it's a very clever and not at all a crackbrained idea."

"Oh, hush, the wizards already know we're cracked and maybe if we all smother father, he'll get some decent rest for once," Maedhros replied, grinning as he saw his father smiling broadly for the first time in many days.

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**A/N: The cuddlefest probably seems OOC, but let us cut these poor, tormented Elves some slack. They've gotten a new shot at living and they don't have to be the stiff-necked princes anymore. Besides, I personally believe that Fëanor can't possibly get enough hugs and that's the reason he went ballistic the first time around... not enough hugs. ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Artaher is Orodreth from the Silmarillion (Finarfin's son and cousin to the seven brothers) and the Minas Tirith Curufin refers to is Finrod's watchtower on Tol Sirion, the fortress Sauron later transformed into Tol-in-Gaurhoth (Isle of Werewolves).**

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3

It was before noon on August the eighth that Maedhros first sensed his mount growing restless beneath him. As they neared the southern limits of Mirkwood and threat seeped ever more potent out of the dark woods, the animals reared and snorted and rolled their eyes in a terrible fright. By morning of the following day, nothing the wizards or the Elves did could soothe them and Maglor's horse threw him when he tried to steer her just a step closer to the edge of the forest.

Radagast finally declared that their horses would ride no further and for the love of no master would they enter the forest so close to Dol Guldur. There was no choice but to tether the leading stallion with the longest rope they had, to hide most of their belongings as best as they could and continue on foot. They had not come across anyone - friend or foe, Man or Elf - throughout the entire cavalcade south. Hopefully luck would hold enough to secure both horses and provisions, else Fëanor said that he would run to Rohan on foot before crossing the river and asking for aid from Lothlorien.

They walked the distance that remained to the edge of the forest swiftly, carrying only some water and lembas and all the weapons in their possession. Maedhros felt his heart sinking as they stopped at the line of trees and the very air that wafted from them was heavy with decay. But he saw his father squaring his shoulders and crossing the invisible boundary with Gandalf hurrying after him.

Walking into the woods that surrounded Sauron's lair felt like leaving the world of the living and of light. As soon as they were all beneath the canopy of gnarled branches and dark leaves that glistened as though coated with blood, a pall of darkness fell over them, rank with the cloying smell of rotting vegetation and something even more sinister. Even Elvish eyes needed time to adjust to the dim world around them and when Maedhros could finally see where he was, he had to muffle a moan and keep from tearing at his throat for a clean breath of air.

Nothing good and wholesome grew there and what trees had endured the corruption were bent, twisted, overgrown with poisonous vines. Fat, red berries hung from those vines and some lay in clusters on the ground, exploding in dark splatters when Maedhros accidentally stepped on them. He had no doubt that eating even one of those things would bring about death in the most painful of ways.

Cobwebs hung between the trees and pooled on the sickly-hued moss. Beneath them, bones of all sizes littered the forest floor. But neither spiders, nor any other living creature could be seen, although the fetid air seemed to hum with watchfulness.

"We shall have some light and not wander blindly into some spider's trap," Gandalf said. "Sauron's spies will have warned him of our coming long ago."

The wizard lit his staff and Radagast did the same. A shudder ran through the trees and the leaves rustled, trying to curl in on themselves. Unseen creatures screeched and scuttled away from the eldritch light, but Maedhros tightened the grip on the hilt of his sword, poised as the rest of his kinsmen to fight whatever dared approach them.

"Won't Sauron be gone if he knows we've come to rout him out?" Fëanor asked the wizards.

"He is still here," Radagast told him.

"He is. I can feel him as well," Curufin whispered but would say no more when they all turned their eyes to him.

"Forward now, we are losing daylight and trust me, you do not want to be caught in this place when night falls," Gandalf started through the trees, staff held out before him.

Maedhros wanted to say that the gloom around them could not possibly pass for daylight, but he caught his father's eye and sighed when Fëanor shook his head. They followed the wizards, treading carefully, eyes roaming everywhere. Without so much as a glimpse of the sky and the way some trees seemed to change their position both ahead and behind, it was impossible to keep any sense of direction. But Gandalf seemed fairly confident as he picked his path and the mounting sense of danger was proof enough that they were getting closer to the old ruins.

Constantly scanning the gloom and the shifting shapes around them, they advanced slowly and the forest itself seemed determined to block their path. Trees put out roots before their feet and they stumbled more than once, until Fëanor said they should hold onto one another. Branches creaked and tried to slap them viciously. Sometimes, they could not move out of the way fast enough and, in a sudden fit, Caranthir pulled out his sword, violently hacking a tree that had hit him.

"I will torch this Eru forsaken place!" he yelled and all around him, the trees groaned ominously.

"No! Stop it! Lower your weapon!" Radagast rushed to his side and forcefully pulled Caranthir away. Branches gave way before the light of the wizard's staff, but snapped closed behind him and the furious Caranthir.

When Maedhros guided his brother back in the line they formed, they both gaped at the black, sticky sap that covered Caranthir's blade.

"Everything is evil in this place. We should never have come here," Caranthir muttered darkly.

"Move out!" Gandalf called after them and they followed him, even more wary than before.

For a little while, the constant murmur in the branches ceased and if it were not for the increasingly suffocating quality of the air, Maedhros would have believed that the forest had relented. But of course, it had only rallied itself and called upon reinforcements. Suddenly, something hissed past Maedhros' shoulder and hit Maglor. Maglor stumbled forward, falling onto Caranthir but before the other Elf could turn around and catch him, Maglor was yanked back on a cord of spider silk as thick as the Elvish rope they carried. Maedhros pulled his sword out and slashed through the cord just in time to prevent the huge, black spider it belonged to from pulling Maglor toward him.

But more sticky projectiles flew at them from every direction and most found their targets. Maedhros heard his kinsmen shouting and saw them swinging their swords wildly. His own arm was splattered with the foul-smelling stuff and a spider tugged him forward, clicking and chattering as it moved upon him. With an angry roar, Maedhros yanked on the cord with all his strength and the spider tumbled forward, beating the ground wildly with its hairy legs. Maedhros leapt upon it and swung his sword across the beast's head, taking out all of its malicious eyes. The spider gave a hair-raising screech and tried to right itself, pushing on its hind legs and snapping at Maedhros with its jaws. But the Elf sprang out of the way, tearing through the monster's legs and plunging his blade deep into the spider's hideous belly.

Maedhros gagged as he leaped back before the unbearable reek and the greenish stuff pouring out of that wound. The spider's desperate screams grew louder and its thrashing even more violent. Blinded and crippled, it fell on the stumps on its side and rolled on its back, beating the air with the legs that remained. Although such foul things deserved no pity, Maedhros raised his sword and dealt it one blow after the other, until the mangled carcass ceased to move.

Trying to breathe through his nose, he turned around to find Maglor behind him and see that his brother defended him from other attackers and slashed at webs being spat at them. Curufin and Caranthir did the same, two spiders lying dead near them, while their father and the wizards dispatched yet more of the beasts.

But there was no way of knowing how many spiders lay beyond their line of sight. Sauron might as well have summoned all the beasts under his dominion to kill the intruders. Radagast must have thought of the same thing as he raised his staff and a blinding light shot out from it. Something coiled through the air, sending Maedhros reeling and when the invisible wave hit the trees, they snapped like broken twigs. In the glare of that terrible light, Maedhros saw many dark forms shriveling and yet more trying to escape. But they were caught and burned and the forest was rent by the force the wizard had unleashed.

It couldn't have lasted more than a moment and when the light went out, they all stumbled around blindly, trying to find each other.

"Are any of you wounded?" Fëanor called out to them and Maedhros found him by the sound of his voice alone.

"I am not… I think. It's me, atar," Maedhros said when his father started and whirled around at the touch of his hand.

Fëanor collected him in a relieved embrace and they both called out to the others, groping for Maglor and Caranthir and Curufin and holding onto them until their eyes began to discern some things again. They felt each other for wounds and breathed a sigh of relief to discover nobody had been harmed.

"I should not have done that," Radagast muttered, walking to them and leaning on his staff. "I should have preserved my strength."

A shudder ran through Maedhros when he thought what the wizard's words really meant.

"You saw the number of those creatures. We would have drowned in their foul blood before half of them were killed. There was no other choice," Fëanor replied.

"Perhaps not. But we must press on now," Gandalf refused them even the smallest reprieve.

But nobody protested as they walked away from that place, picking a path through the spider corpses and torn trees as best as they could. And as they left behind all the destruction, it seemed to Maedhros that the trees were thinning. Gradually, they gave way before thorny shrubs and coarse grass and as they stepped out into what seemed to be a clearing, their breath stuck in their throats and they stared at the dark hill rising before them.

Even out from the oppressive shadow of the trees, the light of day had fled that place many years before and in its stead, plumes of darkness rolled from the top of the hill, some of it rising into the sky and some slithering through the sparse, tortured vegetation. The fortress of Dol Guldur crowned that solitary hill, stuck on its head like a bent and broken thing. It must have been whole once, but only the skeletal structure remained, pillars and partially crumbled walls pointing at the dark sky like so many accusing fingers. It appeared as though many fires had raged among those walls and each ate through stone but not all of it and the charred remains endured. A bridge still stood over some kind of overgrown moat and from it, a trail led into the open maw of the fortress gates. But the mere sight of that place was forbidding and Maedhros saw in his kinsmen the same desire to turn back and flee that he himself felt.

"I know the evil that dwells here," Curufin said, his voice flat and lifeless in the gloom. "I have felt it before."

Fëanor moved closer to his son and Curufin accepted his protective embrace without any thought for appearance or pride.

"In Minas Tirith, when Sauron's armies overcame us… We had to surrender the fortress and flee south with Artaher. That's when I felt this breath of death at our backs. If Turko were here, he would recognize it as well. Sauron is here."

"What do we do now?" Caranthir shifted impatiently. He was afraid, Maedhros knew him well enough to read it in his brother's eyes. Precisely for that, Caranthir needed to do something else but stare dumbly into the rotten jaws of that fortress.

"Is there no way to tear the place down from here?" Fëanor looked at the two wizards. "Is there no master word or song of power we could use to uproot this lair and crush it into dust?"

"Would that it could be so easy…," Gandalf sighed. "But dwellings of such evil making cannot be destroyed unless they are wrested from the mastery of their maker and he is vanquished. If we cannot achieve one, we shall at least attempt the other."

"We have not the power of undoing, Fëanáro," Radagast said. "We are in this world to protect and nourish and to stave off evil."

"Then how do you propose to destroy Sauron?!" Fëanor hissed. "You expect me to lead my sons into that place and _now _you tell me that you have no power to destroy? What is this? A plot to send me back to Mandos?"

"Peace, Fëanáro, nobody is plotting your demise. You know as well as we do that Sauron cannot truly be annihilated unless his Ring of Power is recovered and destroyed. While that ring endures, in whatever corner of the world it may be, Sauron endures also. He waits and gathers strength and that is what we will put an end to. We will not finish him, but we will drive him from his safe place. He cannot take visible shape; his spirit will never dwell in a house of flesh and blood again. Sauron has surrounded himself by darkness and an impassable labyrinth of death that only we have been able to pass through. But without all these defenses, he is naked, helpless beneath the sun and alone in the wastes where we shall drive him. He will wail with the wind and be swept off once we cast him out of his fortress. And for that, I promise you, we have enough strength between us."

Maedhros passed a hand over his face as his father sighed and relented. Although his eyes saw it, his mind refused to register that he would have to walk through those gates and find Morgoth's old lieutenant somewhere amid the rubble.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Olórin**** = Gadalf and ****Aiwendi****l**** = Radagast in Quenya.**

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4.

"We must search the dungeons," Gandalf turned to them. He stood atop a run-down flight of stairs that led to what must have been a great hall once.

Maedhros saw only broken walls and cracked pillars and somewhere at the far end, a dark pit opened into the stone floor. His breath hitched at the thought of having to sink into the hill and come upon the horrors that awaited there.

While they had crossed the bridge and climbed the path that led into the fortress, nothing had come forth to hinder them. The air still hummed with sheer malevolence that even the wizards could not feign indifference to, but through the shattered gates and inside the courtyard, nothing stirred.

"I will do no such thing," Maedhros whispered so faintly that only his father could hear him. "Call me craven, but I will not go down there."

"I wouldn't dream of letting you," Fëanor gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

"You are not going either," Maedhros said in a pleading voice. "It is unwise for us to be separated," he cleared his voice, trying to sound less daunted.

"Radagast and I will descend to check if there are any prisoners still alive," Gandalf said in answer to their hesitation.

"You hope to find survivors?" Fëanor asked.

"It is a fool's hope more than anything. Whoever is taken into those dungeons and put to torture may keep on living only after losing hope and sanity."

"Like Thorin's father, you mean? I wonder, have you ever told Thorin the truth about who really broke Thrain and drove him mad? He does not know the full tale, does he?" Fëanor pressed the matter.

"I have not heard _you_ telling him either," Gandalf bristled, stepping closer to Fëanor.

"Save your bickering for another time and another place," Radagast came between them.

"Both of us meant well… _for once_," Gandalf gave Fëanor a pointed look before turning back to the decrepit hall. "You and your sons shall wait for us here. Come closer to the way below and stand guard. Some things may emerge that will need to be cut down. Let nobody and nothing but Radagast and I pass."

"You may be assailed once we are gone. If so, shout for us if you feel you cannot hold your own. And keep your eyes open. Many things among these ruins are not what they seem," Radagast added.

None of that sounded very encouraging to Maedhros, but he merely nodded, watching Gandalf light his staff and slowly disappear into the bowels of the fortress. Radagast followed and neither of Maedhros' kinsmen said anything for a while, their eyes fixed on the dark pit.

"Is it too much to hope that they'll never come out and we can just get out of here?" Curufin inquired only half-joking.

"Curufinwë…," his father gave him a small smile. "Eyes and ears open, all of you. Step away from there and find a spot that is easier to defend," Fëanor said.

They all scanned their surroundings slowly, retreating toward the pillars that still stood. Standing with their backs to the blackened stone blocked their view somewhat, but it was slightly better than being fully exposed. Maedhros stood facing Caranthir and Maglor a little further off, while Curufin and their father took cover against the same row of pillars. Tense and clutching the hilts of their swords so hard their fingers would ache, they waited.

How much time passed, none could say. But for long moments, not even a whisper passed between them, while eyes roamed over the decrepit hall and tried to pierce the gloom beyond. As he stood still and only his eyes moved, Maedhros saw that some statues still remained among the ruins. He had missed them at first, but there they were, nestled in nooks and corners of crumbling walls. They can't have been anything fair to begin with, but decay had not spared even Sauron's artistic attempts. Maedhros could see faceless shapes, many-limbed, broken and grotesque representations of monsters. Two seemed to have human shape, but cloaks of stone had been carved over whatever lay beneath. Maedhros thought it best not to wonder what that was. He whispered to Caranthir that he should also check the other side of the hall.

"Remember, Radagast said that things among these ruins may not be what they seem," Maedhros told the others when Caranthir confirmed four run-down statues behind the row of pillars Maedhros sheltered against.

"I don't remember any of these things being here when we first walked in," Maglor said.

"They were, I passed by something that looked like a man but had a bull's head," Fëanor replied.

"Count them, all of you," Maedhros told them. "How many on our side?"

"Why, you fancy taking a souvenir when we leave?" Curufin chuckled, but Maedhros heard the nervousness beneath it.

"Just do it. It'll pass the time faster, if anything."

They did count the statues and came to a total of eleven that they could see from where each of them stood. But there could be more outside the hall and in the courtyard. And, unfortunately, counting had not taken up more than a minute.

"How long do we wait for the wizards? If they don't come out by nightfall, you heard them yourself, it's not a place we want to be caught in," Maglor said to their father.

"There is no telling the passing of time here, but I suppose we'll know when the day draws to an end in the outside world. If the wizards take too long, we have no choice but to go in after them."

"But father…," Maedhros interjected, stepping away from the pillar.

"I know it's a traumatic experience for you, Nelyo…"

"No, it's not that. I swear I saw one of those things move," Maedhros pointed to the grotesque statues behind Maglor.

"What? When?"

"Just now, while you were speaking, Káno. I saw that thing with many arms creeping closer."

"I didn't hear anything," Maglor leaped out of cover, sword raised against the threat. "Are you joking? Are you trying to frighten me more than I already am?" he complained, seeing nothing but blasted stonework before him. Stonework that was _not_ moving.

"No, I wouldn't!"

"Valar, you were right!" Caranthir pointed somewhere behind his father. That thing _is_ moving!"

They all drew closer together and scanned their surroundings with wide eyes. There was no more blaming the darkness for addling their sight, the statues were indeed moving. They shifted jerkily, as though trying to pull themselves free of the ground. Rock began to groan and splinter and thud when the first of those things took a step.

"Well, there's something I haven't seen before," Caranthir observed dryly. "Is it just me or are they trying to come for us?"

"Who else would they be coming for?" Curufin rolled his eyes. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to huddle together and let those things hem us in, atar."

"You're right. Move out!" Fëanor shouted, holding his sword ready and walking toward the closest rock monstrosity. Maedhros thought it was some kind of wolf, but it had too many heads and legs and tails and it reared up when his father got closer.

With a mighty swing of his sword, Fëanor cut down one of the heads, but he staggered under the impact and took a step back. The air around them cracked as though under a thousand whips and with that, the stone monsters attacked. They moved much faster than before, in ways something made of rock should never have moved, but sorcery was at work and it wanted the intruders obliterated.

Maedhros charged and smote the throat of an orcish creature who's face had been eaten away almost smooth. The shock of metal against stone made his arms quiver and Maedhros felt the screeching grind in each of his teeth. The stone head rolled off, but from the creature's stomach an arm stood out and groped for Maedhros. He leaped out of the way and chopped off another limb, grateful for his Elvish blade. But that did little to hinder his attacker. Maedhros raised his arm for another swing, but one of his brothers yelled at him and, at the very last moment, he crouched, ducking beneath a fatal blow from an enormous stone club.

Maedhros rolled under a shower of stone shards and when he looked up, he saw the bull-headed statue pulling out its club from the shattered remains of the other creature. Whatever it had been crumbled to the ground, but its stone legs continued to pump the air. However, there was no time for contemplation, not when the bull swung again and crashed the club into one of the pillars.

"Watch out!" someone shouted.

"Don't let it grab you!" someone else replied.

"Get out of the way!" Maedhros heard his father thundering somewhere behind him. He jumped away from another crushing blow and tried to take off the swinging arm, but he only managed to carve half of it off and slow the creature down a fraction. Something boomed and exploded into an avalanche of rock by the entrance of the hall and Maedhros turned his head for a moment to see Curufin amid a pile of rubble, holding up his dagger and grinning triumphantly.

"You have to stab them! Take out your knives and stab them in their cursed stone hearts!" Curufin shouted.

Maedhros saw him leap onto another creature and the moment of distraction nearly cost him his life. Something grabbed his arms from behind, squeezing so hard that Maedhros felt his muscles screaming in protest. The bull-statue turned and raised its club, ready to smash him into pulp. No matter how hard he tried, Maedhros could not free his arms. He shouted and struggled desperately, eyes on the club that would crush his skull.

"NELYO!" he heard his father roaring. "Close your eyes!"

Maedhros averted his face as much as he could, but a hail of shards still rained on his cheek, breaking the skin and stinging horribly.

"Lower your head!" Fëanor shouted.

Maedhros went limp in the painful hold of whatever had him and let his head fall forward so much that the bones in his neck popped. He felt his father's blade hissing through the space he's just vacated and heard the screech of it as it went through stone. The grip on his arms slackened enough for Maedhros to pull away and shield his face as the statue exploded.

"Nelyo! You're bleeding!" Fëanor gave him an alarmed look. "Your face!"

"Just scratches!" Maedhros made to wipe his cheek but thought of the shards still embedded in his flesh and stopped short.

"Your eyes?"

"Not hurt. Hurry, atar, we have to help Moryo!"

They both rushed across the hall to Caranthir's aid, sinking their daggers into the vulture shaped monstrosity that had him backed into a wall.

"Damnit!" Caranthir cursed, picking up his knife from the rubble. "I wish I had one of those Dwarvish battle-hammers."

"I wish I had some of those Dwarves!" Fëanor smiled. "This stone business is for them, not us."

"ATAR!" Maglor ran to them from the other end of the hall. "Atar, watch out for the cloaks. They have real swords. And my blade bounced right off them!" Maglor held up his sword and they saw it notched and dented in many places.

"How many?"

"Three."

"And where is Curufinwë?"

Maglor pointed to the dungeons pit.

"He was there last I saw him."

They leaped over all obstacles to find Curufin struggling with one of the remaining statues and sending it up in splinters. He emerged covered in dust and shards, still grinning broadly until he noticed three more shapes approaching him.

"Kurvo, get out of there!" Maedhros shouted, watching the three cloaked statues brandishing very real and fell-looking swords.

Curufin did not wait for a second warning and hurried to his kinsmen, blocking a sword aimed for his head as he went.

"I don't think those things will be so easy to dispatch," he panted as he reached the others. "What are they?"

"I don't know, but the wizards probably do. I believe it's time we called for them," Fëanor said.

They retreated toward the dark pit, setting their daggers aside and picking up their blades. The three cloaked statues advanced on them slowly, taking their time as though they enjoyed cornering their prey. Even in the dim light, their swords seemed shrouded in a deeper darkness and beneath the stone hoods, nothing could be seen.

"Olórin! Aiwendil! Come out here now!" Maedhros leaned over the pit and shouted as loud as he could.

Fëanor repeated the cry and then, they all stood ready, moving away from the opening, lest they should stumble or be pushed into it. The cloaks drew nearer and with an ear-rending screech, one of them attacked Fëanor. Maedhros saw him block the first strike and leap out of the way when a second and a third followed. Curufin rushed to his aid and Medhros would have done the same, but he had his own adversary to face.

A desperate fight broke out and although they were outnumbered, the statues could not be destroyed. The Elvish blades bounced off them with little harm and they moved with uncanny ability. All the Elves could do was defend themselves and hope that their voices would be heard over the horrible noises erupting from under those hoods.

Maedhros ducked and the blade meant for his throat struck deep into the pillar beside him. He rolled out of the way as the top half collapsed where he had been and with the corner of his eye, the Elf saw Gandalf emerging from the dungeons.

The wizard's voice boomed and it was joined by another a moment later. Light flooded the fortress and Maedhros shielded his eyes, crouching low. He could see nothing past the protection of his palm, but he heard the deep voices of both wizards growing, echoing all around him as they chanted some secret spell in the harsh Valarin tongue. Maedhros might have understood, but the words were drowned in tortured screeching and he needed to shield his ears as well. His head felt ready to split under the assault of those terrible calls and Maedhros hoped that what he heard in them was horror.

The spell lasted a few moments longer and then, the light dimmed. Maedhros tried to regain his feet, but still covered his ears, because the screaming and the shrieking seemed to be growing louder. He blinked and shook his head, seeing a fallen cloak sprawled at his feet. Before Maedhros' disbelieving eyes, the blade in its hand dissolved into dust and the hilt slipped from the stone fingers.

Tentatively, Maedhros uncovered his ears and heard the terrible noise drawing away. But the ear-splitting shrieks were picked up in the forest, joined by roaring and howling and screaming from many tortured throats. It sounded as though thousands of creatures were being torn to shreds and cried out in a terrible cacophony.

His breathing labored and his head swimming, Maedhros staggered to his kinsmen. He saw Maglor's horrified expression and Caranthir's pale, shocked face. The wizards leaned against each other and propped themselves on their dimming staffs. Maedhros searched for his father and saw him leaning over the broken body of another cloaked statue. Fëanor was shouting something but Maedhros barely heard him over the ringing in his ears. He ran to his father and saw Curufin lying on the ground. His brother was deathly pale and his eyes moved frantically from one of their faces to the other. The hilt of a dagger stood out from his shoulder and when the screaming woods quieted a fraction, Maedhros finally heard Curufin's agonized moans.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I apologize for the sheer amount of fanservice in the following chapters. Well... not really. Have fun with that! And blame my lion muses, they are... a breed of their own.**

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5

Fili sat up and yawned widely, stretching his arms above his head until he heard a few satisfying pops.

"What are you doing?" Kili whispered.

"Gonna have a word with him," Fili motioned to Celegorm.

The Elf sat on a boulder at the edge of camp, shaking his hair and combing through it with his fingers, trying to dry the wet locks.

Like the rest of the company, Celegorm had washed two weeks of Mirkwood stuffiness in the Running river, not far from the fording place. On the eve of August the fourteenth – by Ori's diligent timekeeping – they set camp close to the river, relieved to breathe the fresh air under the stars.

Even Thorin had smiled in his beard when several bottles and caskets of wine and ale had magically appeared in celebration of their safe passage through Mirkwood. For the first time in a long while, they could have a drink and make merry, although watchfulness needed to be maintained and they could not let themselves be lulled into a false sense of security.

Merry-making, however, and relief and security appeared to be the last things the three Elves with them had in mind. Over the past couple of days, Fili had noticed them growing more and more restless, barely able to conceal their worry under carefully constructed smiles. While most of Fili's companions took no notice and contented themselves with the Elves' careful watch over them, Fili knew the brothers better. After some internal debate that had the young Dwarf chuckling at himself, he'd finally admitted that he thought of at least one of those Elves as his friend. And why not? He wasn't betraying his people or Thorin's absurd principles. Not when Thorin had cast his own rules aside and befriended an Elf first.

Fili was concerned for his Elven friend. He could tell that Celegorm's attempts to smile and joke and be his annoying, slippery self were becoming increasingly strained. His father and his brothers and the distressing lack of news from them made Celegorm impatient and closed-off. He often stared through the impenetrable woods and then the endless grasslands, to catch some glimpse of whatever happened with his kinsmen. Celegorm frowned darkly and sighed when he could see nothing and the horse beneath him fretted, sensing the rider's unease.

Ambarussa had each other to lean on and a deeper understanding of one another's needs that Fili guessed only twins possessed. They talked to Celegorm and whispered their worries in their own tongue, but more often than not, Celegorm brooded alone.

For once, Fili told himself he would not let the Elf turn over unhappy thoughts on his own. If Celegorm allowed it, he would try to distract him from his worries and hopefully make him smile. Fili said as much to Kili and shrugged when his brother waved him off with a scoff. It truly was endearing, how much Kili bristled at the thought of his brother possibly befriending someone and caring for that person. As though Fili would ever favor anyone over his precious little brother… But it was amusing to see Kili huff and puff whenever he thought the Elf got too close.

With a small smile tugging his lips, Fili approached Celegorm, patting his shoulder gently when Celegorm didn't seem to notice he was not alone anymore. The Elf started and tossed his wet hair back, glaring at the intruder. But, before Fili could open his mouth to apologize, Celegorm's expression softened.

"Oh, it's you," he said.

"Only me, yes," Fili smiled. "I was wondering if I can give you a hand… perhaps. With your hair, I mean," he said in answer to Celegorm's puzzled look. He brought out a small silver comb from a pocket of his jerkin and showed it to the Elf.

"You… want to comb my hair?" Celegorm blinked.

"Um… I thought maybe you would let me. You took such good care of me when I was in too much pain to even think of keeping clean and... well…," Fili shrugged one shoulder.

"Heh, I thought that extreme physical pain was the only thing preventing you from batting me away from your lion mane," Celegorm smirked.

"Well… no. Not entirely. You see," Fili leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Each of us Dwarves has one of these on him," he held up the comb. "Except Dwalin, but he's the odd exception. We, Dwarves, are rather vain about our hair and our beards when time and circumstances allow us to groom them properly. But don't mention it to the others. We don't like to have our vanity pointed out to us, especially by people who have better hair than we do."

"So… you think I have better hair than you, Lionsmane?" Celegorm's smirk broadened.

"I'm not sure. I thought that perhaps you would let me find out," Fili gave the Elf a hopeful look.

His approach worked and Celegorm's dark mood vanished. He shrugged and gave up his seat on the boulder. The Elf folded his bedroll and set it on the rock, motioning Fili to sit there, while he made himself comfortable on the grass, his back to the young Dwarf.

"You mean to brush my hair in front of all your kinsmen and friends?" Celegorm said over his shoulder. "That's a very personal thing and quite a statement you're making."

"You could have been killed because you tended to me when I was injured. The least I can do is make a bold statement about how I like you and you are my friend," Fili gave the Elf's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He felt Celegorm wanting to sit up, but the Elf contented himself with smiling warmly and patting Fili's hand.

"Thank you," Celegorm said softly.

"Thank _you_," Fili replied in like manner. "Now, I don't suppose you'll let me braid your hair as well?"

"After your own fashion?"

"Perhaps. It would be interesting to see how Dwarvish braids look on an Elf."

"And a great honor for me, I imagine."

"Something like that," Fili smiled.

"Then please, go right ahead," Celegorm settled into the most comfortable position he could find and sighed softly when Fili began to comb his long hair.

As gently as he could, Fili worked out all the snags and moved his fingers through the damp tresses, trying to dry them before beginning to braid Celegorm's hair. He was very careful not to glance toward camp or pay any attention to the whispering and the chatter going on there. Rather, Fili became aware of the low rumble Celegorm emitted. For all intents and purposes, the Elf sounded like a large, satisfied cat.

"Tyelkormo... are you purring?"

Celegorm chuckled throatily and rubbed his head against Fili's hand. Somehow, coming from him, the catty behavior was not at all surprising.

"Maybe I am," the Elf said and resumed his purring.

Grinning to himself, Fili scratched Celegorm behind the ear and dragged the comb through his hair a bit more firmly. If the purring hadn't gotten louder, Fili would have to declare himself deaf.

Laughing softly, he lowered his head to listen better. Celegorm leaned back against him, happily playing the part of the biggest cat Fili had ever seen. Intrigued by how the Elf could make those sounds, Fili pressed a palm against Celegorm's chest and felt it vibrating.

"How do you do it?" the young Dwarf whispered.

"Imitation," Celegorm said. "I don't have the same throat and vocal chords that cats do, but I can narrow mine enough to purr when I am happy, just like a cat would."

Fili saw the Elf's cheeky grin and returned it.

"Kili was right, there's nothing normal about you," he chuckled, pressing his cheek against the side of Celegorm's head to show he was just teasing.

"Mmm," Celegorm purred again. "No, I am most extraordinary."

"What are you doing?" Kili bristled out of nowhere, as though conjured by Fili's mention of his name. "What in Mahal's name is this?" he glared at the two of them.

Fili suddenly realized what his position must have looked like and just how close to the Elf he was. It meant nothing, of course, he'd hung onto Celegorm much harder and for much longer, but then, he'd had the excuse of a broken leg. He drew back slowly, resisting the urge to snatch his hand back under Kili's withering glare.

"Sorry to interrupt your cuddling, but the whole camp is staring at you two lovebirds and Dwalin is about to burst a vein," Kili muttered.

"Oh, shut up! What are you even talking about? You're crazy," Fili glared right back. "Now, be a good meddlesome little brother and find me some small clips. There should be some in one of the secret pockets of my coat."

Kili sputtered and frowned fiercely, but stomped off when his brother's forbidding look gave him little room for complaint.

"What do you mean to put in my hair? Jewels and whatnot?" Celegorm inquired idly.

"I would if I had any. You Elves are supposedly fond of jewels and pretty things."

"As are you Dwarves, I believe." Celegorm said. "That is another thing we have in common, exceedingly good hair aside."

Fili grinned and nodded, although Celegorm could not see it. He resumed combing the Elf's hair, enjoying the silky smoothness of it and then giving himself a mental smack when he became aware of the thought.

"Lovebirds, eh?" the Elf chuckled.

"Right, right," Fili groaned, rolling his eyes. His silly little brother should have known better than that, but Fili took no insult and it appeared that Celegorm did not either.

"Here you go, your Majesty!" Kili returned. "Here are your shinies," he held out his hand and Fili picked up a few silver clips from him. "Now, what style will you choose for this vain Elf?"

Fili chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, combing his fingers through Celegorm's hair slowly.

"I know! I know!" Kili suddenly perked up. "I have just the perfect thing."

He leaned closer to his brother and whispered something in his ear. Fili's eyes widened and his first reaction was to shake his head in denial.

"What are you two plotting?" Celegorm asked them.

"Nothing. It's a surprise," Kili drew back.

"That can't mean anything good for me."

"It's not like that. I promise. Fili will give you some braids that will make you look pretty. Very, very pretty. That should be good for someone as in love with himself as you are."

"Oh, you evil little mouse! Now I'm convinced you have something devious in mind…"

"Actually…," Fili bit his lip, still debating with himself. He wondered for a moment longer, and then shrugged. "It's an intricate but very lovely pattern that Kili is talking about. It will take me a while to get it done, but your hair is just perfect for it. And if you don't like it, I'll take the braids out immediately."

"Hmm…," Celegorm sighed. "Alright. It's him I don't trust," he nodded toward Kili. "You… You're welcome to show me some Dwarvish art, if you please," the Elf smiled at Fili over his shoulder. He stretched his long legs before him and relaxed, closing his eyes and waiting for Fili to do whatever he pleased.

With Kili's occasional help, Fili set to work, parting Celegorm's hair and putting fine braids into it. The Elf said nothing and seemed to be nodding off, but would move his head when Fili guided him gently.

The young Dwarves kept quiet, but Kili seemed entirely too pleased with himself. His grin gave Fili a twinge of guilt, although a part of Fili shared his brother's amusement. Gradually, the braiding began to come together in a beautiful style and Fili hoped that Celegorm would appreciate the beauty after he learned that the joke was on him.

"Tyelkormo...," he shook the Elf's shoulder after binding the final braid. "Tyelkormo, wake up. I'm finished."

"Hmm? I wasn't sleeping," Celegorm yawned, belying his words. "All done?" he stretched and touched the side of his head. "Oh… interesting," he felt along the small braids, all the way to the bigger one at the back of his head.

"Yes, I'm done," Fili smiled, flexing his fingers. "I hope you like it."

"Too bad we don't have a mirror to show you," Kili said. "This is the prettiest hair I have ever seen on an Elf and that includes the maids in Rivendell."

Celegorm eyed Kili dubiously but said nothing. He sat up, shaking himself awake and pulled out his hunting knife. He turned his back to the fire and held the weapon in front of his face as a makeshift mirror.

"Very nice," he murmured, turning his head left and right and running his free hand over the braids.

Fili had collected Celegorm's hair in a series of fine braids that pulled it away from the Elf's face and the sides of his head. All of them were gathered in a larger braid that began at the top of the Elf's head and ran down the length of it. Under that net of braids, the rest of Celegorm's hair fell freely, brushed straight.

"This could be practical too. It keeps the hair out of my face," Celegorm smiled, pleased with what he saw.

"Do you like it?"

"I do, my friend. Thank you," Celegorm bowed before Fili, making the young Dwarf squirm guiltily.

But Kili nudged him into smiling as before and Fili complimented the Elf again. Celegorm gave him a warm smile and then walked off proudly, in search of his brothers.

"When he finds out what you did to him and wants to skin you, I won't defend you at all," Fili muttered to his smirking brother.

"Me?! You're the one who put those braids in his hair!" Kili elbowed him. "Come on, we've got to see how the others react. I want to see them cracking up," Kili started toward the fire, leaving his brother to sigh after him.

After a few moments of anxious brooding, Fili followed his brother back to the others. He took a mug of ale from a sniggering Nori and sat down, waiting for the Elves to join them, his gut telling him that what he'd done to Celegorm had been a _very bad idea_.


	6. Chapter 6

6

It started going poorly almost right away. As soon as Celegorm returned from the river with his brothers, he was greeted with cat-calls and an assortment of bawdy observations.

"What a pretty lass… er, I mean _lad_," Gloin chuckled, raising his mug of ale and saluting the smiling Elf.

"Can I interest you in a drink? Oh, wait, I can't, she's spoken for. He, I mean _he _ is spoken for," Nori poured Celegorm a drink all the same and handed him the goblet with a very wide smirk.

"Thank you," Celegorm took a cautious sip of wine, eying the Dwarves suspiciously. He'd begun to realize that he was the butt end of a joke he did not quite understand and he searched for Fili. The young Dwarf promptly hid his face inside his large mug of ale.

"We didn't know you were getting hitched," Dwalin chortled. "Who's the lucky lad? Can't be that little shit, he's not even old enough to know how babies are made," Dwalin pointed to Fili. "Besides, you'd have really ugly children together."

The warrior laughed heartily and clapped his brother's back. Balin rolled his eyes tiredly, but he too was smiling and it was contagious, really. Several others joined in and Kili was snickering by his brother's side.

"Hear that brother? Dwalin thinks your Elf spawn will be an eyesore."

"Shut your mouth. Look at him, he's getting angry," Fili gulped an uncomfortable sip, watching Celegorm and not liking the way the Elf frowned one bit.

"Hold on. What in Mandos are you all on about?" Celegorm asked, his voice loud enough to be heard over the raucous laughter. "It's the gods damned hair, isn't it?" he pointed to his head.

"Oh, aye… it's the hair," Fili heard Bofur saying and he sank further in his spot, wishing to become as small as he felt. "Although I must say, you look very fetching in it and I mean that, lad, not just taking the piss like these oafs," Bofur added, giving Celegorm a sympathetic smile.

"Oh, I see," the Elf nodded. He turned on his heels and crossed the little distance separating him from where Thorin stat with his nephews.

Fili could not quite bring himself to look up and meet Celegorm's eyes when the Elf loomed over him.

"Will someone explain this to me?" Celegorm growled. "Thorin, will _you _ at least have the decency to not smirk in your beard and tell me what this means?"

"Apparently, you've fallen prey to the shamelessness of my nephews again," Fili saw his uncle picking his words carefully. "They've gone a bit too far, though, and you've a right to be angry. But sit and let them explain."

Both Fili and Kili shot Thorin wide-eyed looks, wishing that he'd tried to diplomatically smooth things over. But it was their uncle they were pinning their hopes on after all and diplomacy had never been his strong point.

"I'll stand right here until one of you goddamned tells me what you've done to me!" Celegorm retorted.

Fili felt his angry gaze on him and raised his eyes, cringing under Celegorm's thunderous expression.

"I… er… it was just a joke and I didn't mean to… I'm really sorry," he stammered.

"Quit mumbling and tell me," Celegorm's frown deepened and he shifted impatiently. "Right now! What is this?" he tugged on the longer braid Fili had put in his hair. "What does it mean?"

"Um… it's. Ah, how should I say it…? It's a hair style that Dwarf men plait the hair of their betrothed in after they promise themselves to each other. As a… um, a sign that the person in question is spoken for. The_ woman_ in question, to be more precise," Fili squirmed and averted his eyes as he saw Celegorm's countenance darkening with each word he spoke. He'd really blown it, just like he'd known he would when Kili suggested the foolish idea to begin with. Fili very badly wanted to empty his mug over Kili's idiot head and then bash him with it repeatedly.

"The woman, huh? Spoken for?" Celegorm muttered to himself, the back of his hand pressed over his mouth. "WHATEVER POSSESSED YOU TO BELIEVE THAT I AM YOUR WOMAN TO MARK IN ANY WAY?!" he shouted at Fili suddenly, leaning over him with a look so venomous that Fili recoiled, dropping his drink and spilling it all over himself.

"I… I didn't mean to… I thought…," Fili gaped at the terrible change he saw in the smiling, friendly Elf who'd always treated him so affectionately. Celegorm was furious and the sight of him like that made Fili wish the earth would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.

"It doesn't matter what you meant or what you thought or what you didn't think," the Elf straightened himself and schooled his face into a calmer expression with visible effort.

"It was just a joke! What's wrong with you?" Kili glared at Celegorm.

"I am not amused," the Elf hissed between clenched teeth. "And the joke is over," he turned back to Fili. "Since I don't think you want to marry me anymore than I want to marry you, this is where we break up," he said, sneering at Fili.

Celegorm's eyes were so cold on him that Fili shuddered. Try as he might, he could not think of a way to right the foolish thing he'd done or how to react in the face of very real anger. He kept expecting Celegorm to burst into laughter, clap his back and tell him that the joke was on him. Instead, the Elf continued to loom over him and looked at Fili as though he were worth less than the mud under his boots.

"Please let me take out the braids!" Fili blurted before he could think better of it.

"Oh, no. The pretty braids are staying. They'll be a good reminder of what I really am to you," Celegorm smiled icily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have had more of your childishness and stupidity than the most patient Elf should ever have to endure. I am _not _ patient and _this _ is where I draw the line!" the Elf growled, turning on his heels and stomping away. "Don't you dare follow me!" he barked at Fili when the young Dwarf sat up to run after him and somehow convince the apologies to quit getting stuck in his throat.

All the others had stopped talking and they watched Celegorm stalk off. One of the twins caught his brother's arm and Celegorm said something to him, gesturing angrily, then shoved his brother off and disappeared into the night.

"Well, looks like the wedding's off. The bride just ran away in a hissy fit," Dwalin chuckled, but even he had the sense to do so only after the Elf was out of ear-shot. His brothers, however, were not, and Fili found himself at the receiving end of more hateful glaring.

"Well done, boys. You've really messed up now," Thorin grumbled.

"But it was just a joke! I don't know what got him in such a snit, we've made fun of each other before. I diss him all the time and he just insults me back, that's how it works," Kili said, making both his older brother and his uncle give him scathing looks.

"You're such an idiot, Kili! I should have never listened to you."

"You're the bigger idiot for having listened," Thorin shook his head. "You two always have to push people and test their patience and then you have the gall to wonder what went wrong. Especially you, Fili… You pride yourself in being more understanding and open-minded about other people than I am. Don't bother denying it, I know you believe that. But it's all airs and make-believe. You don't understand anything and you know nothing about that Elf who's friend you pretend to be. If you had any sense and you could see past the length of your own nose, you'd know that under his laughing and joking demeanor, Tyelkormo is very proud, just like the rest of his kinsmen. He hides it and takes your foolishness in stride for the sake of maybe seeing at least one of you grow up to be worthy of his friendship someday, but it is clearly not this day. And there is only so much insult a person can take before it becomes unbearable. I can't blame him if he's finally had it with both of you."

Fili's heart sank and sank and sank even further and his shoulders slumped. He hadn't been at the receiving end of a scathing lecture from Thorin in a long time and it only added to his guilt.

"Well done, you make _me_ very proud as well," Thorin waved them both off with a disgusted look and sat up, turning his withering glare on the rest of his errant company. Not even Dwalin challenged his anger, although he was probably not the only one who didn't quite understand what the fuss was all about.

Fili sat dejectedly and wondered how in the names of all the gods it had all gone so poorly. Thorin's words hurt more than a whipping when Fili knew he had nothing on his side to deny them. But even worse than that, he had let down a friend. Celegorm had trusted him and the young Dwarf resented himself for betraying that trust the most. Thorin was family, he would give Fili chances to prove him wrong, but, just like Thorin had said, the Elf was a stranger and perhaps Fili did not understand him at all. But he wanted to!

With that in mind, Fili sat up, unmindful of his ale-soaked clothes or Kili's attempts to coax him out of silence.

"Where are you going?" Kili whispered.

"To find him, where else?"

"I'll go with you."

"No, you are staying right here, it's your fault we're in this mess anyway. Tyelkormo is my friend, not yours. I have to do this on my own."

Kili slunk back with a dejected look and in the back of Fili's mind a warning went off, telling him that he had also managed to hurt his brother. But he grit his teeth and set off in search of Celegorm.

Fili passed by Thorin who said nothing, but at least he did not have so much disappointment written on his face. Nori opened his mouth to say something funny, but Fili silenced him with a hard look. The whole company was at fault for treating someone who had only ever served them well with such disrespect. Fili decided to have a talk with some of his companions and ask them to be more mindful of their manners.

But determination did not get Fili past Celegorm's brothers. Amrod and Amras intercepted him as he hurried in the direction he had seen Celegorm last.

"Just where do you think you're going?" the elder twin hissed. "Turn back and mind your own business."

"But I have to find him. I have to apologize ," Fili recoiled under the angry look on the Elf's face. There was another one who had always been friendly and with a smile at the ready in answer to everything.

"No! You leave my brother alone!" Amrod growled.

"I must find him and try to right this. I cannot let a foolish prank come between us. Please tell me where he is."

"No! You will leave Tyelkormo alone and give up this absurd notion of friendship between you. You know nothing about him and I won't stand the barrage of insults you and your people hurl at him anymore. At all of us, for that matter!" Amrod's eyes narrowed and Fili saw the Elf's hands clenched at his sides.

"Peace, brother," Amras touched his twin's arm gingerly. "One of us frothing at the mouth is enough. You and I need to keep our wits about. But Ambarussa is right," Amras turned to Fili. "You go too far with your jokes, all of you."

"I mean to speak with my people and tell them how much it dishonors them to disrespect our allies and friends," Fili declared resolutely.

"That is well. But I doubt that _your people_ will listen, knowing their nature and how much their care for pride when it is not their own," Amras nodded.

"But I _must _speak to Tyelkormo first!"

"No, you will not!" Amrod insisted.

"You will not, especially not right now," Amras added. "Brother, you stay here, you are too worked up to be reasoned with. But I think Fili should at least know why this prank has turned into such a disaster, while others before it have always been welcomed with a laugh. Walk with me?" the Elf said to Fili.

The young Dwarf agreed and followed Amras in silence, until the light of their camp no longer shone on their faces and the only sounds around them were the songs of summer insects.

"Will you please help me? You all have every right to be angry, but please give me an opportunity to fix it? I do not merely pretend that you are my friends and the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt Tyelkormo," Fili appealed to the Elf again.

"Alright. For my part, I believe that you are fond of my brother, as he is of you. But tell me, do you even know what _'Tyelkormo'_ means?"

"His name? No. I am sorry, but I do not speak a word of your tongue."

"You wouldn't… I will tell you what my brother's name means. Mother called him _'hasty riser'_ after he was born, because she knew he would have a formidable temper as he grew. You think Curufinwë and Carnistir are the foul-tempered ones in our family, but Tyelkormo is the quickest to anger and the longest to hold a grudge. You see him so warm and playful and reliable and he is all that, but get on his wrong side and you will see him ice-cold, ruthless and deadly. He has killed for less than the insult you gave him this night."

Fili's eyes widened and shards of ice tore through his stomach.

"He won't kill you, of course," Amras laughed. "But you have to understand that the smiling golden lion is also the most prideful and quick to bite of us all. You must keep this in mind if you wish to be his friend."

"I… I see now. I think I do. But does that mean Tyelkormo has kept his temper in check all this time and pretended to take no insult?"

"Heavens, no! He really likes you and he knows you mean well… once he's gotten past your Dwarvish reluctance, that is. You've appealed to his protective nature in a way that I have only seen him manifest toward us, his kinsmen. And that says a lot. But it also gives you the power to hurt him."

"I do not wish to hurt him."

"I know that. But listen… We are not ourselves right now, my brothers and I. There is a lot of anger and anxiousness and worry and helplessness that put us on the edge these days."

"I can see that. I know you are worried about your father and your brothers. That is why I wanted to distract Tyelkormo from his gloomy thoughts. I should have never listened to Kili, a prank was the last think Tyelkormo needed… although, he could have also used a laugh."

"Yes, but not at his expense. You don't even know what a terrible insult it was to have Tyelkormo called a woman and worse, someone's possession. He may be a shameless flirt, but that does not mean he is anyone's whore."

"I never said or thought that!" Fili stomped his foot. "This is getting way out of hand."

"Agreed. And it's happening because we are under a lot of stress. You don't know why, not entirely. But I think you should know, if you really mean to comfort my brother."

"I do. And I want to know."

"But first, you must promise me that you will not say a word of it to anyone. Not your uncle, not your bother. Absolutely nobody."

Fili chewed his lip thoughtfully, wondering if he could make such a promise.

"They will know later. When father returns, he will tell us all. But until then, I need your word," Amras insisted.

"Alright. I promise. I will not tell a soul. Except Tyelkormo, since he knows and you are telling me this secret for his sake."

"Of course," Amras smiled.

"So… what is it?"

"The Necromancer, Fili. Both the wizards and father did not want any of you to know that the Necromancer is Sauron. None other than the _Dark Lord_ himself."

Fili sucked in a deep breath that did not want to come back out. His head swam and he thought his ears did not work properly.

"Who? What?" he mumbled.

"Sauron. Gandalf and Radagast discovered what hides behind the name of the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. That is why Gandalf has drawn us into your quest. That is why he needed us to journey to this part of the world. We did not know it in full until we were in Beorn's house, but the wizards wanted us to go with them and be their guard as they try to confront the Dark Lord. But father did not take all of us with him. He wanted me and Ambarussa and Tyelkormo to stay with you and make sure you are all safe and sound when he comes back to us. He told Thorin nothing because he feared your uncle would do something foolish and lead you all to your deaths. But now I fear that the wizards have led my kinsmen to their deaths. Something has gone amiss, we all feel it, and it takes every ounce of control we have over ourselves to stay here and not flee south. So you see? Does it make more sense why our tempers hang by a thread and we are in no mood for pranks?" the Elf sighed and fell silent.

As for Fili, he sank to his knees on the grass and tried to process the enormity of what he'd just heard. The Dark Lord had risen again? And a handful of Elves were supposed to confront him? Were the wizards mad? Or murderous?! Had they caught both Elves and Dwarves in a web so full of danger and so much bigger than Fili could imagine? All he knew was that madness would take him if his brother would rush into certain death and he could do nothing about it.

Fili turned to Amras when he sat by his side and put his hand on the Elf's arm, part in an attempt at comfort and part to anchor himself into the reality of that evening. He felt that the Elf's words had drawn back a veil and Fili had taken his first glimpse of the terrible nightmare beneath.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Welcome to the head of one Turkafinwë ****Tyelkormo. Take your meds (he didn't!) and proceed with caution.**

* * *

7

Celegorm lay sprawled on the grass, arms folded beneath his head, with the sounds of the waking world soothing him into a semi-conscious state. But sleep would not come and it had refused to come throughout the whole night. Try as he might, he could not quiet his thoughts, not even after counting every star he could see in the sky many times over and naming them each. Anger still festered inside him and simmered under a slow burn, but at least the lid did not threaten to blow right off any longer.

He'd spent the entire night prowling the grasslands like a caged animal suddenly set free, straying further from camp than he should have. But the night held no dangers to him. At least no greater danger than breaking loose and doing what rage drove him to do against those ungrateful bastards he had been assigned to watch over. As his resentment grew and pride awoke to remind him who he was, Celegorm knew that he would tear any Dwarf to shreds, should one cross his path, sense and caution and carefully laid plans be damned!

Before dawn, Amrod had tracked him down and brought some food, but Celegorm could not take a single bite, not with his stomach still in knots. He took a drink and sent his brother back, telling him to pack up camp and start the day's journey whether Celegorm returned or not. Since he could not keep his ire from rising even at the thought of seeing another bearded flea-bag, he would likely roam around the convoy on foot and hunt until he could contain himself enough to prevent a murderous rampage. Of like mind, but unwilling to leave Amras alone, Amrod left the food and disappeared back to camp.

The untouched food had been overrun by ants and they made quick work of the unexpected feast. Celegorm watched them in the first light of dawn and then amused himself by following the trek of a cricket across his chest. But those small distractions did little to help him forget why he was all alone in the middle of nowhere.

He could not be at his father's side and he hadn't been there to keep Eru knew what disaster had befallen his family because he had to guard a bunch of dirty, smelly, uncouth and petty Dwarves! Hate bubbled inside him and Celegorm ground his teeth hard, cursing the Dwarves and the thankless job that his father had laid upon him. He should never have accepted it. Why hadn't Nelyo stayed behind, with his endless patience and his limitless diplomacy?! Or Káno, who wouldn't know insult from kindness if someone yelled it in his ear? Why did it have to be him and why had he not knocked those little bastards flat on their backs sooner?

'_Who do they think they are?!_' he thought furiously. '_Who in Mandos do they think they are and what do they take me for?! If only I could tell them… if only I could go there and tell them and then slit their miserable throats while they cower in fear before me!_'

He had contemplated sneaking back to camp and quietly getting the job done. The Dwarves would be none the wiser. His brothers would listen to him and at least stay out of it if they did not wish to get their hands dirty. Why should they have to babysit a bunch of ungrateful bastards who still treated them like dirt after everything Celegorm and his kinsmen had done for them? Why not dispatch them and let the carrion birds take care of the rest? It was a small miracle Thorin and his motley crew had survived in the wild so long and they would have been worm-food long ago if not for the protection they scoffed at every chance they got.

Celegorm could take the map and the key from Thorin. His father and Nelyo knew their secrets and the way into the mountain. Why not just go there without the noisome Dwarf rabble and at the end of the day, Smaug didn't even have to be killed, merely lured out and kept out while they searched for the Silmaril. They'd figure out something to bait the dragon with and if the opportunity showed itself, they would kill it. After all, that miserable mortal Turin had been able to kill Glaurung all by himself. The whole House of Fëanor would have no trouble with one of Glaurung's lesser spawn.

'_But nooo… I can't do that!_' Celegorm grumbled to himself. '_Father forbade it. He says we don't do that anymore' _the Elf huffed_. 'He says we must be diplomatic about this and I can just hear him in his high and mighty voice, lecturing me about how to hold my temper in check and think of all the work we've done thus far. How wonderful… If only father hadn't done the idiotic thing of actually befriending one of those pests. Of all the unthinkable things, he's gone and taken a liking to Thorin Oakenshield and now he means to make him King under the Mountain in the foolish hope that somehow, that angry midget will forgive him for lying. And stealing his Arkenstone. Father should wake up and smell the roses, Thorin doesn't give a damn about him and he would feel no gratitude toward anyone even if help came for free. He probably thinks the ground he walks on is holy and we exist for the sole purpose of serving him.'_

'Pot calling kettle black, Turkafinwë? _father_ _would say to me if he were here and damnit, I wish he were. Because I am an even bigger fool than he is. I've made an even bigger mistake and how Curufin would laugh if he saw me now… Sulking and grinding my teeth to powder because my little pet bit me. He told me time and time again to be careful and not get too caught up in this game of _tame the little Dwarf_. He knew that no matter how many times I would feed the little lion, it would still bite my hand and he was right. _You always get too damned attached to your pets, next thing you know, you start treating them like real people and then you're heart-broken when they prove themselves to be nothing more than heartless little beasts_, he said and I never listen, even though Curufin knows best.'_

'_But no matter, at least I know what to do from now on. At least now I know better than to lower my guard so much. And if anything good came out of this incident, it's the guilt that I no longer feel. These friendships are such an unwanted complication and Curufin was right yet again. _Why go through the woe and hand-wringing and gnawing guilt that keeps you up at night? You're not here to make friends and least of all not among a bunch of resentful little creatures that would not know your worth if it hit them in their enormous noses. _He was so right and I cannot wait to tell him… if only he were alright and I knew that they are riding toward us full speed. Curse the Dwarves and curse the wizards and curse everything that crosses my path this day! '_

"I have to kill something," Celegorm told the growing day around him. "And then I will go back to camp with a huge smile on my face, like nothing ever happened. I've given them the satisfaction of seeing me so affected for too long."

He sprang to his feet and fingered his knife. It was the only weapon he had on him and it would make the hunt much more difficult, but that would be no problem. On the contrary, it was precisely what he needed there and then, some hands-on bloodshed. With a feral grin, Celegorm sniffed the cool morning air and started off in search of prey.

…

He returned to the others before nightfall, carrying a young buck on his shoulders and sporting what anyone in their right mind would recognize as a manic grin. A whole day on the hunt, shutting himself down to everything else but instinct and making such a splendid kill had cooled Celegorm significantly. As he strode toward the camp his companions were just beginning to set, he felt ready to face anything with a smile on his face.

Well, almost anything… if only he did not feel the sudden urge to choke several of the Dwarves with their own braids as they greeted him with careless smiles and even dared joke about the end of his hissy fit.

'_You have not seen me in a hissy fit_,' Celegorm nodded and laughed at Nori's perpetually cheeky smile. '_But if you do, I guarantee it'll be the last thing you see._'

'_Oh, father's pet. Eh, I mean _**_friend_**,' he tilted his head and gave Thorin a less rabid smile. '_You see too much, Dwarf. How about I put those lovely blue eyes of yours out? I just might, if you don't quit studying me so carefully._'

'_Little mouse!_' Celegorm could not help baring his teeth at the sight of Kili and even that irredeemable idiot had the sense to feel danger and scurry out of the way.

'_Careful now, you're overdoing it_,' Celegorm cautioned himself as he set down his catch close to the pit that Bofur and his brothers were digging for the fire. '_You're alright_,' he gave Bofur something that hopefully passed for a genuine smile. That one, at least, had never been gratuitously mean and neither had his brothers. Celegorm thought that Bombur felt grateful for no longer taking the brunt of his companions' cheap humor and Bifur… Bifur had to stay alive long enough for Curufin to have his fun when finally revealing to the Dwarf that he spoke Old Dwarvish fluently.

"You alright, lad?" Bofur said around the stem of his pipe.

"Sure, is there some reason why I shouldn't be?" Celegorm replied with a broad grin.

"Er… well, you've been gone for quite a while. And I know that this rabble can test anyone's patience to the limit sometimes, but nobody means you ill."

'_Right… right. The exact same way I wish you all the best luck in the world_,' Celegorm shrugged one shoulder.

"It's alright. I did take some offense, there's no denying that, but I should have known better. Once I was off, I thought I could take the opportunity to look around and see what is ahead of us. And catch some game, why not? Now, if only my brothers would stop pretending they have something else to do and get here to prepare the game. I won't be doing any of that this time. I need some rest, I've been on my feet since, I don't know… yesterday morning?"

"We'll see to it," Bofur ushered Celegorm away from the dead animal.

The only thing that prevented Celegorm from shoving the Dwarf off was Bofur's wide eyed expression when he saw that the buck's throat had been cut and the Dwarf marveled at the skill that must have accomplished such a feat. Celegorm accepted the praise graciously and then sought Thorin out to relay one last observation before the Elf planned to find a comfortable spot and sleep until morning.

"I saw something strange this afternoon as I made my way back," he said to the Dwarf, acutely aware that Thorin still eyed him intently and had hovered nearby while Celegorm surrendered his catch. "On the southern horizon, there was something like a cloud hovering very close to the ground. I don't know what to make of it, the best explanation I can think of is a dust storm over Dagorlad. But if the winds pick up and bring it all the way here, it might be unpleasant. I thought it grew closer before sunset but now there is not enough light to tell."

"We will keep an eye out in the morning," Thorin nodded. "I meant to ask you if you are…," the Dwarf hesitated.

'_Concentrate, Turkafinwë! Concentrate and tell the Dwarf exactly what he wants to hear._'

"Alright? Yes, I am. Quite well. A little solitude will do wonders sometimes. I ought to apologize for throwing such a temper tantrum over nothing."

"Not over nothing. I would take terrible offense if someone did that to me and retribution would be… swift," Thorin said with a small smile.

"Oh, if it is retribution you are worried about, then please put it out of your mind. I mean to do no such thing. Admittedly, I am a little upset with your nephew, but we will work it out between us. Besides, it's silly to waste time and energy over such childish spats. We've greater things to worry about."

"That is true. But I will apologize on behalf of my nephews and the rest of these unruly Dwarves. I trust they know better now."

"No, no… It would be a shame if anyone had to keep his humor in check because of silly Elvish sensibilities," Celegorm chuckled, gleefully picturing the dressing down Thorin Oakenshield must have given his company while he'd been away.

"Some sensibilities are not silly, even if they are Elvish," Thorin smiled.

Celegorm acknowledged that with a smile so false he was surprised it did not ooze off his face right away. He excused himself and brought up the need to rest, hoping that everyone took it as a sign to stay away and not disturb him. He hadn't exactly been right to think that he was ready cohabitate with the Dwarves again and not react violently. Maybe sleep would restore some of his mental faculties, the Elf thought with an inward grin.

As he went in search of his horse, meaning to retrieve some of his belongings, Celegorm's eyes fell on his little lion and he cringed against the instinctive need to comfort Fili when he saw the young Dwarf giving him a deeply dejected look.

'_Gods damn you, focus! You can't just walk up to that little cub and whisk him up in your arms like nothing happened. What do you do when your pets have been errant? What will teach them more than harsh corrections? That's right… a little bit of indifference._'

Celegorm's eyes skipped over Fili and not a single muscle on his face twitched when Fili called out to him. Nor did he acknowledge the Dwarf when Fili ran after him. Very, very calmly and smirking on the inside, Celegorm picked up his bedroll and searched for a suitable spot a little distance away from the bustle of camp. With Fili on his heels, following him quietly like a beaten puppy.

Celegorm set down his bedroll and stretched his tired limbs, feeling the weight he'd had to carry on his shoulders for many miles. He cracked his fingers, then popped a stiff joint in his neck and laid himself down on his side, facing away from the anxious looking Dwarf.

He was beginning to doze off when Fili started singing softly and even with his limited knowledge of Khuzdul, Celegorm could tell it was a lullaby. He bit his lip against a fit of hysterical laughter and forced himself to ignore the chanting, but to no avail.

"What are you doing?" he growled at last, still facing away from the Dwarf.

"Singing and hoping it will help you sleep? You said I have a soothing voice."

"Shut up and go away. That will do wonders for my sleeping," Celegorm groaned.

Fili did not sing anymore and Celegorm could picture his sad face vividly. But some minutes later, as the dusk grew deeper and crickets began to sing, Fili was still there, sitting on the grass and sighing from time to time.

"What are you _still _ doing here?" Celegorm muttered.

"I need to speak with you."

"Well, I don't. I'm tired. Go away, I need to rest."

"Please?" Fili inquired softly and Celegorm felt him tentatively touching his shoulder. He willed himself not to flinch or whirl around and start shouting Fili's head off.

"Why?"

"I want to tell you how sorry I am about what happened and how worried I was about you while you were gone and we didn't know what was going on with you," Fili said in one breath.

Celegorm made a non-committal sound and shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable. He could not fight against the warmth that bloomed in the pit of his stomach when Fili took off his cloak and covered him with it.

"Now what?" the Elf groaned.

"You don't have a cloak anymore, because of me. I know mine is too small, but maybe it'll help a bit."

"Fili, please leave."

"No."

Celegorm snorted and rolled his eyes. What a ridiculous scene and what fun for whoever was within ear-shot!

"No?!"

"Not until you hear me out and you forgive me."

"Good luck with that."

"Please? Listen to me, at least. And please believe me when I tell you that I really didn't mean to insult you. It was a poor joke and it's the last time I ever listen to my brother when he wants to mock someone. I promise. All I wanted was to distract you. I know you're very unhappy and I understand it so much better now, after I talked to your brothers."

"You what?! What did they tell you?"

"Ambarussa told me the truth about the danger your father and your brothers are in," Fili leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I know it's Sauron they've gone to fight and I understand why you're all so worried. I'd be insane with it if I were in your shoes."

"Stupid little brothers be damned! Everyone's gotta have at least one!" Celegorm growled, whirling around and startling Fili. "They had no business telling you that!"

"But I had to know. I can't even imagine how hard it must be for you to stay with us when they are out there and…"

"Be quiet!" Celegorm hissed.

"I won't tell anyone. I already promised and you wouldn't even have to ask me. I will not tell Thorin because I know what he would do. If I were him, I would turn us back around and run south until my legs gave out beneath me. I would not let you face that danger alone," Fili said and although he averted his eyes, Celegorm could tell he spoke the truth. And such words were not easy to say for the proud young Dwarf.

The Elf sighed, feeling large chips of his anger melting away.

"You would do that?" he inquired softly.

"Have you not done the same for me and more? But no, it's not about repaying any debts, I would follow you into any peril because you are my friend. Truly and no pretense. Please believe that."

"Hmm…," Celegorm shook his head pensively.

"You have to believe me. And forgive my stupidity," the young Dwarf pleaded and try as he might, Celegorm could find that nothing else but endearing.

"I don't know. I may forgive. But I believe my little brothers have pointed out that I am very slow to forgive. And I never forget," he said, giving Fili a hard look.

"Yes, I know that, too. And I will do my best to earn that forgiveness," Fili promised, his eyes bright in the waning light. "Because you never forget, Tyelkormo, I want your memories of me to be good ones, not… like this. A long time from now on, when I'll live _only_ in your memories, I want you to think fondly of me."

Celegorm felt something snap inside him with such a painful twang that he had to squeeze his eyes shut. He drew a shuddering breath and sat up amid the rubble of his hastily-erected defenses.

'_To Mandos with it all! I am gone! I am done for!_' he cried to himself, grabbing Fili and hugging him so tight that Fili squeaked in surprise. '_Oh damn you, how can a little thing like you have such a big heart and such a way with words?! How can you do this to me?_' Celegorm asked within the confines of his head, while he clutched the young Dwarf to him and petted his unruly mane. But the hair in question brought back what had landed them in such a predicament to begin with and Celegorm chuckled, unwilling to let Fili go. Not that the Dwarf protested in any way. On the contrary, he held on and laughed softly, relief coursing through him in a way that Celegorm could actually feel. The Elf had an inkling that their eyes were not entirely dry and held on a moment longer, trying to get himself together.

When Fili sat back, he wiped his face with both hands and sighed deeply, making Celegorm want to hug him indefinitely. But he had to catch himself and behave and remember that Fili was neither a child nor a furry little animal, no matter what Curufin claimed. The Dwarf was his _friend_ and maybe all the murderous thoughts he'd entertained had been a huge overreaction. Maybe all he needed to do was accept the shitty humor of the Dwarves for what it was and perhaps, serve them a bit of their own medicine. Gods knew, he was probably the most skilled Elf in Arda at coming up with withering remarks.

But there Fili was, smiling bashfully and giving him such a hopeful look...

"Peace?" he asked.

"Peace," Celegorm sighed happily. "And quiet too, I really need to rest. But… I think I can do so much easier now."

"I hope so," Fili smiled warmly. He leaned over Celegorm and rearranged the cloak over him as the Elf settled back down on the bedroll.

"You… mean to stay here while I sleep?" Celegorm blinked up at him.

"If you don't mind… I will go and fetch something for you to eat when the others are done cooking the game you brought. You must be starving, I don't think you've eaten anything all this time. Should I wake you when the food is done?"

Celegorm closed his eyes and nodded. He'd been so angry and insane that hunger had come and passed and returned only to disappear unnoticed. But he needed to sleep more and lay on his side, head resting on his folded arm. He yawned and settled in the most comfortable position, smiling when he felt Fili's fingers stroking his hair gently.

"You took out the braids…"

"Of course I did… Don't remind of them me after we've just made peace on that matter," Celegorm muttered.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Start by singing again, maybe? You really do have a soothing voice."

Fili began murmuring the lullaby again and continued to pet Celegorm's hair gently. The combination had the Elf drowsing in a matter of moments and his last thought before falling asleep was wondering exactly who was taming who between the two of them.


	8. Chapter 8

8

"Oh, Valar! It hurts!" Curufin moaned. "It's as though the knife keeps twisting in the wound!"

"Hold on, we're almost there," Fëanor gave his son as gentle a squeeze as he could and tried to take more of Curufin's weight as they stumbled through the accursed forest together.

Each of Curufin's cries hurt his father more than stab wounds and Fëanor winced as he felt the rigidity of the younger Elf's body. Curufin had not been wounded with a regular knife, although that would have been bad enough. The bloodied blade Gandalf had pulled out of his shoulder had been of the same make as the Nazgul swords. Only the hilt of it remained, rolled up in a piece of cloth and tucked away in one of the wizard's pockets.

But the damage inflicted by that fell weapon was extensive. The knife had almost gone through Curufin, meant for his heart but tearing in just below his collar-bone. The wound still bled in spite of all their efforts to stop it and the pressure Maedhros kept over it. Curufin's arm hung lifeless at his side and he was very pale, growing colder by the minute. But when the wizards said they should not linger in Dol Guldur a moment longer than necessary, the injured Elf had been the first one to agree.

Hanging onto his father with his good arm and grunting in pain with each step he took, Curufin had managed to stay on his feet, but they could see him growing weaker and still, the end of the forest was nowhere in sight.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Maedhros murmured, grimacing in sympathy when his blood-soaked hand pressed the bandage over Curufin's wound too hard.

"I don't get it," Curufin groaned. "What devilry is this? I've been stabbed before and it hurt, but never like this!"

Fëanor took a deep breath through his nose and his vision swam with helpless anger for a moment. But he forced himself to stay calm and guide his son into the open before night fell. Already, the scant light was failing and the wizards said they could provide no more. Whatever strength they had left would be used to heal Curufin's wound.

"They said it was a Morgul blade," Maedhros told them. "A weapon of Sauron's chief servants. Olórin believes the three cloaks we fought were Nazgul, although he cannot explain how they clothed themselves in stone to attack us."

Fëanor envied his eldest son's calm and steady voice, knowing that he could not replicate it if he opened his mouth to speak. But then, Maedhros had an Age worth of experience with such hurts and… _no!_ Thinking of that would not help at all! Fëanor grit his teeth and peered into the gloom ahead as though the light of his eyes could tear it apart. He thought he could see the shapes of dead spiders and blasted trees, which meant they were retracing their steps and leaving the same way they had journeyed into the dangers of Sauron's fortress.

"Not long now," he whispered. "Keep talking, both of you. Try to stay awake," Fëanor said to Curufin.

"As if I could sleep with this… goddamnit, atar! I can't even… it's like I've got rusty nails eating their way through my flesh. And shards of ice digging into my bones. I don't understand how a simple flesh wound could be so hot and so cold at the same time. And I cannot move my arm at all," Curufin tried to flex the fingers of his left hand, but all he managed was a little twitch. "Must be some kind of poison," he panted, dragging his feet and grimacing when he stubbed his toes against a tree root. "But I should stop babbling and complaining and being such a baby. Turko would have my hide for it."

Fëanor bit the inside of his lip hard and his eyes welled-up, but a small smile tugged his lips nonetheless. Thank Eru Celegorm was not with them, else there would be two of them in full panic mode! Celegorm would bark orders and growl at everybody and make a spectacle of himself to hide the acute concern for his little brother. It was well that Celegorm did not know, but what of _his_ well-being? Where was he and where were the twins and were they well or had something gone amiss with them too and… _no! None of that!_ Fëanor shook his head and plodded on, knowing he could not afford to let his mind wander on such worrisome paths.

"No, he wouldn't," Maedhros sighed. "But Turko would freak out a lot, that I can guarantee."

"I miss him," Curufin whispered and sagged against his father even more.

"I miss him too. But the wizards will make you better once we are out of here and then we will find our brothers, alright?"

"Yes, Nelyo," Curufin laughed weakly, muttering something about being talked to as though he were a child.

All three of them were silent for a while, as they picked their path through the blasted area where spiders had attacked them. A very anxious looking Maglor offered to relieve Maedhros from keeping pressure on Curufin's wound, but Maedhros declined. And Fëanor would have no help from Caranthir, not when Caranthir walked with obvious unease and held his right side more often than not. But in true Caranthir fashion, he said nothing of any wound and at least there was no blood on him to make Fëanor's alarm mount to unbearable proportions. The way Curufin was growing heavier and more unsteady on his feet gave him enough grief as it was.

"I'm sorry, atar," Curufin sighed when his arm slipped off his father's shoulders and he wobbled dangerously, almost collapsing on the forest floor. "I'm growing numb," he mumbled. "Which would be well, except… the rest of me is growing numb and dizzy, not the wound. That one still feels like it's being crushed in a vice," Curufin panted, unable to bite back a yelp of pain when Fëanor straightened him up and set him in motion again.

"Can you still walk?" Fëanor asked, his voice broken and raw.

"I can try…," Curufin took a tentative step. "We're almost there… right?"

"Almost," Fëanor swallowed painfully and prayed for the strength to carry his son if need be. They would have done that from the very beginning, if Curufin hadn't refused, saying that being carried would jostle his shoulder more than he could bear. Fëanor could not understand how a knife-wound hurt so much and had such a devastating effect on an Elf and on a young and strong one at that!

His fear for Curufin's health grew as Curufin's speech became more broken and he kept mumbling about being cold. But somehow, Curufin managed to stay awake and at least partially aware, by the time they broke out of the forest and into the fresh evening air of the free world.

But there was no time to enjoy the relief of leaving Mirkwood behind them. With the dark line of trees still in sight, they stopped and laid Curufin on the grass as gently as they could. He had grown even paler and his eyes had taken on a glassy look that terrified Fëanor more than he could say with words. He would send both wizards back to Manwe if they did not heal his son right away and one of them would swallow the hilt of the Morgul knife if they did not tell him why it hurt Curufin in such a terrible way.

But first, a fire needed to be lit, and quickly. Fortunately, they had enough water between them to bathe Curufin's wound and nobody gave any thought to food or drink, although almost a day had passed since they'd had their last meal. Radagast brought out a tin cup from his backpack and set water to boil over the flames, adding several herbs and powders to it, while Fëanor fretted and watched him impatiently. But the Elf hurried back to Curufin's side when he heard his son calling out brokenly.

Maedhros had removed the blood-soaked cloth from Curufin's wound and Gandalf was inspecting it with a deep frown.

"What is it?" Fëanor nudged the wizard none-too-gently. "Why is he in such a bad way? Tell me you can heal him!"

"I will try my best," Gandalf sighed. "I would promise you more, but I am not myself right now and no amount of murderous looks on your part will help me," he gave Fëanor a chiding glance over his shoulder.

"You'd better…! Ah, alright. What can I do?" Fëanor shifted impatiently, his eyes never leaving Curufin's face.

"Help me take his tunic and his shirt off. Then Radagast will bathe the wound and we will ease your son's suffering."

Curufin gave a weak cry at the thought of fresh pain awaiting him. Again, Fëanor's eyes welled up and his ears rang. He felt himself growing faint and wished for a wall to bash his skull against because what was wrong with him?! He could not afford such debilitating weakness. It was unthinkable and Curufin needed him!

"Atar… breathe," Maedhros drew him aside, one of his warm hands cupping Fëanor's cheek. "Kurvo will be alright. Calm yourself and just breathe."

Fëanor took a deep breath and expelled it, eyes on his son's encouraging smile. But Maedhros' face was half covered in cuts and bruises and caked with blood and just… Fëanor tore his eyes away, gulping audibly and trying to keep breathing. Why had it not been him? Why were his sons hurt and not him in their place?!

"You should… get someone to look at your face, Nelyo," Fëanor whispered.

"After we take care of Curufinwë. Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

"Of course you are. Same as Carnistir. You both need help."

"And we will get it. Now… breathe and let us see what we can do for Kurvo."

Squaring his shoulders, Fëanor returned to his injured son and held him upright as Gandalf and Maedhros removed his tunic. They pealed his soaked shirt off and Curufin cried out softly. His teeth began to chatter right away and he shivered from head to toe. Curufin's hand felt lifeless and unbelievably cold when Fëanor touched it gingerly, making him stare at Gandalf and silently beg the wizard to do something already.

"So cold… atar… I'm so goddamned cold!" Curufin stammered, his lips colorless and icy sweat breaking out all over his skin.

Fëanor drew back and flung his own shirt and tunic off. He sat behind Curufin and pulled him against his chest, wrapping himself around his shivering son as gently as he could. Curufin yelped, but he sagged against his father, his good hand clutching Fëanor's wrist with all the strength he had left.

"Can you do what you have to do if I hold him like this?" Fëanor asked the wizards.

"Yes, but keep him steady," Radagast nodded.

"I will. I have you," Fëanor whispered in Curufin's ear, feeling the way his son tried to stop shaking in his arms and failed.

As best as he knew how, Fëanor tried to soothe his son and keep him from flinching away while Radagast cleaned his wound. Curufin's breathing grew shallow and he tensed, but hardly cried out. His grip on Fëanor's hand, however, would leave dark bruises behind. For some reason, those hateful wizards would not or could not make Curufin sleep, although Gandalf passed a hand over his face and Fëanor thought his son relaxed a fraction after that.

At some point, Caranthir approached them quietly and laid a cloak on his father's shoulders. He sat with his back against Fëanor's, propping him upright and whispering something Fëanor did not catch as Curufin grew taut and grunted against a fresh wave of pain.

"I cannot tell if there are any remains of the knife in the wound," Radagast said. "It would explain why he is in so much pain. I will do my best to draw them out."

With a shuddering sigh, Fëanor eyed the wizard pleadingly. He tried to distract Curufin by murmuring he did not even know what in his ear, while ages passed and the wizards were not done with their healing. But, under the soft blue light that glowed beneath Radagast's hand, Curufin gradually stilled and his shivering ceased.

Fëanor could not see much of what the wizards were doing and he had no wish to see either. He buried his face in Curufin's damp hair and willed all his strength to somehow pass into his son. He did not even hear it when Gandalf said they were finished and it took great effort for Fëanor to surface from his misery when the wizard shook him.

"Fëanáro… you can let go of him now. He needs to lie down and sleep," Gandalf said.

"Is he… will he be alright?" Fëanor felt Curufin's hand slip away from his wrist and his son sagged heavily against him.

"Yes, he will. The worst is over. He would be much better even now if I were not so damned weak. But after a good rest, you will have your son back. Come on, wrap him up in that cloak and let him sleep."

Fëanor let Curufin go with infinite reluctance, covering him and setting him down on the grass with Caranthir's help. Curufin's brow had finally smoothed and he seemed peacefully at rest, but Fëanor listened to his heartbeat and his breathing and he stroked Curufin's hair for a long while. The wound had been wrapped in fresh bandages and when he felt warmth returning into Curufin's arm, Fëanor could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Exhaustion hit the Elf so hard that his vision went blank for a moment, as he rose to his feet. He shook himself and saw that Maedhros was finally being tended to. Radagast sat before him and gently picked debris out of his skin. Fëanor turned to Caranthir and ignored him when Caranthir claimed he was just fine.

Unclothed in spite of his protest, Caranthir reluctantly revealed a dark bruise on his right side, just beneath his ribs. Gandalf probed him gently and Caranthir grumbled that he hadn't broken anything and a little bruise wasn't worth all that fussing. He put his shirt back on and stalked off in search of something to eat, after Gandalf tried to take some of the discomfort away. Both he and Fëanor smiled after the grumpy Elf and his attempts to appear unaffected.

After a bite of lembas and a drink of the little water they had left, they laid themselves down to sleep, too exhausted to give their dangerous surroundings much thought. According to both Gandalf and Radagast, the great evil had been driven forth and they were both spent from the effort that feat had required. But surely that did not mean the woods had grown less perilous and for as long as he could stay awake, Fëanor scanned the night around them warily.

Still… he could not recall his last night of real, wholesome sleep and, after such a trying day, his strength was finally depleted. At first Fëanor nodded off and then, he laid himself at Curufin's side. He fell asleep wondering if he had woken Maglor up to watch over the camp or if he'd only meant to do so.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Artanis and Nerwen ('man maiden') are Quenya names for Galadriel.**

* * *

9.

Fëanor woke with a start and sat up, disoriented. He'd been dreaming about a dark labyrinth full of living statues that tried to kill him and when sunlight hit his eyes, the Elf had no idea where he was for a moment. Then, it all came back and with it also came the awareness that their little camp was surrounded. Everywhere he looked, he saw horses and cloaked figures. Fëanor groped for a weapon, shocked to find nothing on himself but the small dagger in his boot.

"Peace, my Lord. And good morning," a voice said in Sindarin and when Fëanor jumped to face it, his shoulders sagged with relief.

Before him stood a tall, broad-shouldered Elf, wearing the grey cloak and the garb of Lothlorien's Marchwardens. His features were somewhat familiar and Fëanor tried to remember where he had seen him before. But more importantly, how many archers did he have with him and what business had brought them out of the Golden Wood?

"I am Haldir. We have met before, albeit very briefly. Earlier this summer, in Imladris," the Elf offered, a vague smile on his face.

'_Wonderful_,' Fëanor groaned inwardly. '_He was part of that delegation… This does not bode well_,' he thought, but kept his expression neutral and busied himself with straightening his clothes.

"I remember," Fëanor said. "May I ask what brings you here?"

"If you follow me, there is someone else who might explain it better," Haldir told him.

"Someone else?" Fëanor frowned. "Who?"

"Follow me, please," the Lorien Elf beckoned stiffly. "And our apologies for startling you. We took the liberty of approaching your camp when none of you showed any signs of hearing us coming. We feared that you had been afflicted by something."

"Only exhaustion. Although some of us are wounded," Fëanor replied. He looked around and saw that at least twenty more Galadhrim had come right among them and neither of them had been aware of it. Curufin still slept and Caranthir was waking up just as startled as Fëanor had been. By his side, Maglor tried to explain what was going on, although he too was confused and apprehensive.

Fëanor searched for the wizards and Maedhros and finally spotted them a little way off, talking to more cloaked figures. The three of them obscured whoever they held converse with, but Haldir obviously wanted Fëanor to follow him there.

"Just a moment," he said. "I must see how my son feels," Fëanor knelt by Curufin's side and touched his son's forehead.

Curufin stirred but did not wake. With the morning sunlight on his face, he was his old, _healthy_ self again, no longer pale and cold and torn by pain. His hand and arm were warm to the touch and he did not flinch when Fëanor touched his shoulder gently.

Relieved, Fëanor rose and gave his other sons a shrug when their eyes searched him questioningly.

"Stay with your brother and call me if he wakes," he told Maglor and Caranthir. "I'm going to find out what this is all about."

As he let Haldir lead the way, Fëanor saw that the Galadhrim had found their horses and brought them along. Everything they had left behind had also been carried and stacked together in a neat little pile, which was good. Fëanor had meant to send Maglor and Caranthir after the horses and their supplies, but the Lorien Elves had saved them the trouble of that trip. Of course, that did not mean they would spare them other trouble. Such a large company, armed to the teeth from the looks of them, would most likely complicate Fëanor's existence if he knew anything about the one who had sent them.

"Fëanáro," Gandalf turned toward him and, as he did so, he revealed none other than the Lady of the Golden Wood.

Fëanor stopped and his eyebrows rose, taking in the sight of his niece clad in the same garb as her warriors. She stood just as tall as them and far prouder, the only visible sign of rank on her shining in the brooch that pinned her cloak at her throat. Galadriel tilted her head very slightly in greeting and studied Fëanor with her cold eyes.

"Father, they were just telling us that…," Maedhros intercepted him, guessing that his father was none too happy about their meeting.

"Valar, Nelyo! Your face looks worse than it did last night!" Fëanor flinched at the purple and yellow and green that colored his son's cheek in sickly hues.

"Looks much worse than it feels and most of it is the herb paste Aiwendil has given me. Now, if you wish to speak to Artanis…," Maedhros stepped aside.

"Good morning," Fëanor said flatly.

"Good morning," Galadriel replied in like manner.

"What brings you so far from the Golden Wood?" Fëanor inquired, knowing full well that Lothlorien lay just across the Anduin.

"I have seen from afar your confrontation with the Necromancer and wished to hear for myself how things have come to pass in Dol Guldur," Galadriel said, in her deep, monotonous voice.

Fëanor bit the inside of his lip hard against the first thing that sprang to his mind in reply. He took in the sight of his niece and told himself that she had fully earned her unflattering name of _Nerwen_. He wondered how many thousands of years it had taken Galadriel to perfect her utterly condescending and superior look and whether he was supposed to be impressed. That he was most certainly _not_.

"If you were expecting casualties, I hate to disappoint you. We are all accounted for and the three that are missing travel north with Thorin Oakenshield," Fëanor could not keep irony out of his voice or his choice of words.

Galadriel narrowed her eyes and the faintest trace of disdain could be read on her features.

"Father…," Maedhros sighed. "The Galadhrim are here to offer us help, not harm or hinder us."

"I wonder…," Fëanor mused. "A word with you, Nelyo," he drew his son aside. "Listen. You know I can't tolerate the sight of her more than she can stand the sight of me. Last she and I parted, we did not do it on very good terms. Not at all. I can't and won't hold my temper before that brat, no matter who she thinks she is in this world. You handle this, you were always the better diplomat. Find out what they want and get rid of them. Alright?"

Maedhros closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. But he kept to himself whatever reproachful remark bubbled on his lips and that was good, Fëanor would have none of it.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Forgive me, Artanis," Fëanor turned back to Galadriel. "I have no time to exchange pleasantries with you. Curufinwë has been wounded and I must see to him. Nelyo and the wizards will tell you everything you need to know."

Without waiting for a reply, Fëanor walked away and back to his sons. If that little brat thought she could get a rise out of him with her airs, she was welcome to try her charms on his retreating back.

Curufin was just beginning to stir when Fëanor returned to his side. He opened his eyes and squinted in confusion.

"Turko?" he blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Wait, you're not Turko, you're one of those Lothlorien faeries," Curufin frowned at Haldir and Fëanor did the same. He hadn't noticed Haldir shadowing him, but offered the Elf a smirk nonetheless.

"Good morning, my Lord," Haldir greeted Curufin unperturbed.

"What is going on, atar? What is he doing here? And where is _here_? What happened? Why am I half naked?" Curufin made to sit up and the cloak fell from his shoulders. He tried to cover himself and groaned when his wounded shoulder would not let him. "Ow, ow, ow… Now I remember."

"Does it hurt so much still?" Maglor asked him.

"It hurts… in a good way. You know, like a healing stab wound should. Nothing like last night," Curufin flexed his fingers and smiled when he saw that he had regained the use of his left hand.

"That's a relief. You scared us for a while there, baby brother," Maglor petted Curufin's hair and helped him into his tunic.

"I scared myself too," Curufin shook his head. "That was unlike anything I've ever felt. What did the wizards say? I'm going to live, right?"

"Of course you are, don't be stupid!" Maglor nudged him.

"Not stupid," Curufin grumbled. "Just hungry. And thirsty. And itchy," he rubbed his bandaged shoulder.

Haldir approached him and offered Curufin a small flask. Fëanor saw him barely suppressing his amusement and was surprised to find himself not the least bit irritated by Galadriel's guard.

Curufin took the flask and helped himself to what Fëanor presumed was miruvor. His son's satisfied smile and how revived he seemed confirmed his guess.

"Thank you," Curufin returned the flask and even bowed slightly. "Now, can someone tell me what is going on here? What is this merry gathering all about?"

Haldir patiently began to explain but Curufin interrupted him.

"Oh, no! Queen Bitch herself is here?" he wrinkled his nose when he caught sight of his cousin.

Fëanor barely bit back a snort and readied himself to intervene, in case Haldir did more than glare furiously.

"What have we done to deserve this, atar? And don't tell me… you left Nelyo to deal with her. Well, don't ever pester me about doing this and that wrong again. _This_ is prime example of whom I take after," Curufin carried on.

Fëanor saw Haldir's eyes growing even wider and he was surprised by Curufin's cheek as well, but he could not be mad at his son. Not after the terrible scare Curufin had given them. If anything, hearing him mouth off in such manner showed that Curufin was alive and well and Fëanor would not chide him for it.

"You need to stop talking right now, Curufinwë," Maglor caught his brother's uninjured arm and pulled him away. "Come on, let's find you something to eat and fill that big mouth of yours."

As the two of them left to join Caranthir in inspecting their recovered belongings, Haldir frowned after them.

"I will go ahead and presume that was not a side-effect of your son's injury, my Lord," he said dryly.

"Your presumption would be correct," Fëanor smirked. "But come, you might find us more amiable after we've had some breakfast."

The look on Haldir's face said he very much doubted that, but Fëanor smiled anyway. He found himself truly appreciating the Elf and thought it such a shame that he was one of Galadriel's henchmen.

Surprisingly, breakfast turned out to be quite a civil affair and even Curufin knew when to hold his tongue. He sat quietly and ate when Maedhros joined his kinsmen and Galadriel came with him. Although she declined to partake in the meal, she sat with them and told them how her scouts had marked their journey south and found their horses near the border of Mirkwood the day before. She had journeyed as fast as she could with her contingent of archers, thinking to enter the forest and give them her aid if necessary.

As he listened to her, Fëanor could not help translating Galadriel's words into what they likely meant. She probably wanted to make sure they had gotten the job done and while she may have worried for the wizards, her uncle and her cousin were no great concern of hers. There had never been and there would never be any kind of love between them and as he watched Galadriel, Fëanor could not help but notice the toll that age and power and responsibility had taken on his once youthful and fair niece. She was still fair, but cold and lifeless and so burdened that it must have taken immeasurable effort for her to smile. Freedom and dominion had gotten her nothing more than a plot of land between two streams where her people lived in _trees, _of all unthinkable things. The passing of time and the sorrows of her long life showed in Galadriel's eyes best. She was so very weary, Fëanor sensed it, and yet… she clung to her pride and cloaked herself in it, still posing as a haughty queen before him.

He felt her trying to probe his mind and discern his thoughts when his eyes did not leave her. But Fëanor smiled thinly. I did not work like that and she would have no more entry into his mind than she ever did. He could probably overcome her defenses, but he felt no need to do so. Where in another life, he would have been fascinated by his kinswoman and more than willing to learn the secrets of her heart, as they sat across from each other there and then, Fëanor realized that what he felt for Galadriel was _pity_. More than disdain, it was pity for how much she had been and how little there was left, in spite of the Ring of Power shining on her finger.

"A word with you, Fëanáro?" she startled him from his musings. "Alone, if you please. It will not take long."

Fëanor shrugged and sat up, following Galadriel past the ring of her watchful archers. They had taken only a few steps away from them when Galadriel spun on her heels and fixed him with a hard look.

"Well?" he crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her impatiently when Galadriel merely stared and said nothing. "You'll have to speak with words, you are not welcome in my head."

"Nor do I have any desire to be there," she said. "But I do wish to ask something of you."

"If by ask you mean _demand_, let me remind you that you have no dominion over me, Artanis. I do not answer to you and neither do my sons. You have my word that we will not disturb your people or trespass your lands, but beyond that, we are free to go wherever we wish and do whatever we please," Fëanor asserted, staring her down and having every intention of putting her in her place.

"You should allow me to speak before drawing your own conclusions and attacking. I see that I can reason with you now no more now than I could in the past," she bristled.

"And who's fault is that, Artains? Who's fault is it?"

"It matters not," she said, but the way she averted her eyes gave Fëanor the satisfaction of her admission. _He_ had not been the unreachable one and she knew it well.

"Indeed. But what is it that you wish to ask of me?"

"I wish to plead with you that you do not start another war over your Silmarils, Fëanáro. I may have no dominion over you, but I have taken upon myself the responsibility of protecting this world even beyond the borders of my realm. In the name of that responsibility, I ask you to shed no more blood for the Silmarils."

"Oh. I see," Fëanor's expression softened and he dropped his aggressive stance. "Well, here is something that we both agree on. I have no intention of starting any war with anyone or putting this world that I have been returned to in anymore danger than it is already in. I should think that the place we have just returned from and the wounds we have taken there would be enough proof to you that we are here to protect as well, and not destroy."

"Does that apply to Thorin Oakenshield?" Galadriel insisted.

"I doubt Thorin Oakenshield is any of your concern or that he means more to you than he does to me!" Fëanor's voice rose. "But if you must know, I mean to help him, not to rob him. I could have gotten rid of him long ago or just let him perish in the wild along with his company if that had been my will. But when we find the Silmaril and the dragon is destroyed, I mean to see his kingdom restored and Thorin back on the throne of his forefathers. He deserves no less. I may even let him keep the Silmaril, so long as I know it is in good hands and not part of a dragon's plunder. Better yet, _he_ may give me my jewel of his own free will."

Galadriel smiled thinly and eyed him doubtfully.

"You do not know the hearts of Dwarves if you believe that."

"And you do? Artanis, you underestimate me. Do you think I cannot charm a single Dwarf, no matter how stubborn he is? You forget I convinced our whole people to follow me into the unknown."

"You have not changed at all," Galadriel shook her head sadly. "And still you overestimate yourself, uncle."

"Perhaps. But I have all the time in the world for this. And contrary to your belief, I truly do mean to serve Thorin Oakenshield well. Without any bloodshed, unless it is that of our common enemy. You will see this in time, so long as you do not insist on meddling into my business."

"Nothing good ever came out of that," she sighed.

"Now we understand each other."

"I don't believe we ever will, but that is unimportant. If I have your promise that you and your sons will not plunge our people into a war with the Dwarves for the sake of your jewel, I will return to my lands and disturb you no more."

"You have my promise. I don't suppose you want an oath on it, do you?" Fëanor smirked, unable to help himself. But Galadriel's utterly indignant reaction was completely worth it. "Now then, as amusing as antagonizing you may be, I don't believe either of us has any more time to waste on it. I must set my camp in order and see to my sons. We should organize our belongings and plan the next stage of our journey when everyone is recovered for it. Radagast will return to his home and Gandalf means to accompany us only as far as the eastern edge of Mirkwood. Since I do not believe you wish to lend us your fine archers as escort, I will thank you for bringing us our horses and bid you all a fond farewell."

Galadriel's darkening features plainly showed how much she appreciated being dismissed. But she knew a losing battle when she fought one and perhaps the Ages of the world had taught her something about patience, Fëanor mused.

"I wish only for a word with Maitimo before we go," Galadried said.

"By all means," Fëanor pointed the way back to camp, wondering what Galadriel thought she could possibly say to his son that Fëanor would not learn of immediately after. But, with the uncanny ability Maedhros had of parting on friendly terms with everyone he knew, it was best to let him carry out what remained of the encounter.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

Summer was kind to the company of Thorin Oakenshield. Even in mid August, the nights were cool and the sweltering stuffiness of Mirkwood had given way to wind-swept grasslands. The travelers were pleased but their ponies and horses even more, for food had been scant and unwholesome in the forest. Each morning, the animals ate their fill of rich, dew-beaded grass and drank from streams that flowed to meet the Running under the eaves of Mirkwood.

They traveled within sight of the forest to maintain direction and would keep doing so until meeting the river once more. Thorin purposed to follow the river all the way north to Esgaroth and deemed that the journey would take them a week or little more than that. The Dwarf king did not forget the promise he had made before parting with Fëanor and his sons. He'd said that he would wait for the Elves if circumstances allowed it and, after the uneventful crossing of Mirkwood, circumstances _did_ allow him a respite.

The company took stock of what provisions they had left and learned that their packs had not become significantly lighter after a fortnight of travel. They had good hunters among them and the grasslands offered them game of all sizes. Thus, the company was not pressed by necessity and Durin's Day was still months away. To Bilbo's surprise, Thorin declared that they could let the ponies set the pace of their journey north for a few days and give Fëanor a chance to catch up with them.

The twins and Celegorm were pleased with that, but no less concerned and it was not difficult to guess why they scanned the southern horizon more often than not. Their kinsmen were too far even for Elvish sight to catch a glimpse of them, even if they had already begun to gallop north as fast as their horses could carry them. But nobody knew where they were and what had happened to them, beyond whispered speculation that everyone dared voice only when Celegorm and his brothers were out of earshot.

But beyond the constant worry for the well being of their father and brothers, the Elves had a more immediate concern. The dust-cloud that Celegorm had spotted three days before had gotten alarmingly closer and it moved against the wind. Sometimes it disappeared altogether and sometimes it spread along the line of the horizon. At times it grew darker even under the clear sky and at other times, it was no more than a haze. The Elves had described what they saw, but even their sight was obscured by the rippling summer air. What's more, the landscape had changed into a sea of rolling hillocks and dells, covered in swaying grasses.

They debated what the cloud was and what caused it and how dangerous it would be once it reached them. Even riding at full speed, the ponies could not outrun whatever it was that hurried in their direction. The Elves wished to have a closer look, but relented when Thorin insisted that the company should stay together and not become separated.

The night before, as the company camped at the roots of a small hill but found little shelter against a swift summer storm, it seemed to Amrod that the ground rumbled beneath his ear and his brothers felt it too. But with thunder booming above them, they could not be sure. And when the downpour ended, nothing could be heard or sensed anymore.

After taking counsel together, they decided to steer toward the forest and take cover under the canopy, where they could espy whatever passed without being seen. However, the forest itself was anything but safe and neither of them had forgotten the cobwebs and the clusters of spider eyes. The less time they spent there, the better.

After dawn and a mostly wet camp, they rode westward toward the forest, with the rising sun warming them and drying their belongings. The southern horizon was free of ominous clouds and nothing but happy bird chatter accompanied the brisk ride. Bilbo strained his ears but heard nothing louder than the horses trotting and the usual clangor of Dwarvish gear.

Bilbo rode at Kili's side, where he had instinctively stayed for the past couple of days. The young Dwarf still smarted from the spat he'd had with Fili and would not forgive his brother for taking the Elf's side. Especially not when a harmless little prank had put both Thorin and Fili in ranting mode and Kili could not understand how those two had been turned into such staunch defenders of Elf honor.

Bilbo sympathized more than he could let Kili know and, as he witnessed the young Dwarf's hushed outbursts on the matter, he itched to say more. Bilbo very badly wanted to tell Kili how misguided his brother's affection for Celegorm was, and how dangerous, too. But that very danger kept Bilbo's mouth shut. Even if Celegorm and his brothers had regained their friendly and jovial demeanor, Bilbo sometimes saw the Elf's eyes darkening and disdain passing over his features as he regarded his Dwarven companions coldly. Celegorm had said nothing to Bilbo, merely stared him down once or twice, all but daring Bilbo to run his mouth.

The Hobbit had kept his mouth shut, but he'd offered Kili a sympathetic ear and Fili as well, when the older brother lamented Kili's stubbornness and his unwillingness to accept an apology. Even as they rode briskly toward the forest, Fili trotted to his brother's side and tried to coax Kili out of his sulky silence.

"Come on, Kili, this is becoming ridiculous! How many times do I have to say I am sorry and you're still my best friend and it's not right for us to be like this?"

Kili merely huffed in reply to his brother's pleading.

"Kili, we could be in danger here! Must you stay so mad at me still? You have gotten your point across, you know."

"Go hug your precious Elf, he'll protect you," Kili muttered, staring ahead resolutely and refusing to meet his brother's eyes.

"Fine then, be a baby!" Fili retorted. He pulled on the reins and guided his pony away from his stubborn brother. Bilbo saw both anger and sadness in the young Dwarf's eyes. Like Kili, Bilbo resented those Elves and their insidious manner of driving wedges between the Dwarves, especially between kinsmen and brothers.

But suddenly, there was no more time for either Bilbo or Kili to entertain such grudging thoughts. The Hobbit heard Amras calling out to them from the top of the little hill they had just rounded. All eyes turned to the Elf as his brothers appeared by his side. The Elves exchanged a few words and Bilbo saw their horses sorting and pacing restlessly atop the hillock.

"What do you see? What is happening?" Thorin shouted.

Celegorm and his brothers had ridden behind all day, scouting the way the company had ridden north and knowing that their trail could easily be picked up by any pursuers. They must have finally seen something.

The Elves spurred their mounts into a run and thundered down the hill. But when they stopped at Thorin's side, the deep throb of hooves hitting the earth carried on. It was faint, like rolling thunder on the horizon, but they felt it in the ground and their ponies fretted beneath them.

"What is that?" Kili whispered. "Do you hear it?"

"I do. Perhaps the storm is coming back," Bilbo said, hoping his guess was true.

"There is no wind to bring it back," Kili stared at the hill that obscured whatever hat set the Elves into a run.

Bilbo nudged his pony closer to Thorin's, just in time to hear Amras explaining what he had seen.

"Animals," the Elf said, too wide-eyed and worried for Bilbo's liking. "Hundreds of them. All kinds of beast, from deer to cattle to sheep and smaller things that were too far for me to see. But they are coming closer. They are running straight for us."

"What?" Thorin gaped and the others murmured to each other in disbelief.

"There's no time to explain, we cannot linger here. Move out, all of you!" Celegorm urged them. "Come on! They run faster than your ponies. We've got to reach the woods before they overtake us."

Bilbo wanted to know more and, judging by their puzzled expressions, the others did as well. But the rumble had grown louder in the few moments they had spent talking and that finally set the company on the move again.

Celegorm rode at the front and for a moment, Bilbo thought that he would just take off. His horse and those of his brothers were both big and fast enough to outrun cattle and sheep. But the Elf kept his nervous mount trotting only as fast as the ponies could follow and the twins flanked them as they sped toward the forest.

"I've never seen anything like it!" Amrod shouted. "Animals stampeding away from danger I can understand, but this… They've been after us for days! I don't understand!"

"Something must be driving them this way. If they catch us, don't fall of your ponies! Whatever you do, hold on and don't let them throw you. Stay in the saddle!" Celegorm told them, his voice barely rising over the din as they all urged their mounts to run.

But the ponies themselves had sensed something amiss and they neighed in a fright, beating the ground with their sturdy little legs in a mad dash. Still, it was no match for the stampede behind and they could hear it like an avalanche rolling after them, growing louder and closer.

Clutching this pony's mane in both hands, Bilbo risked a peek behind and his breath caught in his throat. Over the crown of the hill they had just left the first deer leaped in pursuit. They threw themselves down the slope, some of them falling and breaking their legs. More came and trampled them, followed by black and brown shapes of cattle and oxen. In the blink of an eye, the whole hill swarmed with them and the animals thundered ahead with unbelievable speed.

Bilbo let out a frightened cry and tore his eyes from them. He lowered himself onto his pony's neck and held on tight, staring ahead and into the line of threes ahead. He never would have thought the sight of that forest and the prospect of going back into it would ever appeal to him, but there and then, Bilbo willed the trees to come closer, if they could walk like his companions had speculated.

"Don't try to steer the ponies! Just hold on and don't fall off!" Celegorm shouted. Bilbo saw him sitting up in the saddle, eyes wide and mouth agape as he saw what came after them. The Hobbit's heart sank further, knowing that they would not make it under the trees in time and the tide of stampeding animals would swallow them in a matter of moments. They could hear the trampling of the chase clearly and the braying of those beasts made Bilbo's hair stand on end.

He worked up the courage to look back again, but one small glimpse showed him more than he wanted to see. The animals were so close that Bilbo could see the first of them frothing at the mouth as they leaped and bounded after them. He plastered himself against the pony's neck and clutched the frightened beast, praying that it would not throw him.

The ponies screamed in fright when the first deer dashed among them. One enormous stag thundered past Bilbo and crashed straight into Oin's pony, making hit rear and almost throw the rider off. The stag's antlers caught in Oin's backpack and if it were not for Gloin's quick reaction, his brother would have been pulled down and trampled. Gloin slashed through the antlers with one of his axes and freed his brother, yelling something that was swallowed in the stag's terrible cry. As Bilbo rushed past it, he did not wish to imagine the death it suffered when its peers rain it over heedlessly. But the wet tearing of flesh and the crunching of bones could still be heard as the chase continued and the trees were still too far away.

Everyone was shouting, trying to stay together and keep track of each other. But as the deer dashed among them, the ponies bolted and there was very little they could do to control them. And when the bigger animals finally caught up, it was every Dwarf and Elf and terrified Hobbit for himself. They were overrun just before the line of trees and heavy bodies pressed upon them from all sides. Bilbo found himself wedged between two shaggy beasts that brayed hoarsely and Bilbo saw their eyes rolling in their heads in terror. Before him, a bull bellowed and swung its massive horns, ready to take Bilbo's pony full on. The Hobbit screamed and closed his eyes, but at the very last moment, he felt the pony's head tugged sharply to the left. They barely avoided collision with the angry beast and Kili yelled something at Bilbo. But Bilbo didn't even have time to thank the Dwarf for saving him, because they were completely surrounded and two more animals sprang wherever one was narrowly avoided.

Bilbo thought the beasts were just as terrified as they were and ran in a mad retreat from something. But even if they did not specifically try to run the riders down, the stampede still pushed them onward and it would take a small miracle for all of them to stay in the saddle.

In a cacophony of shouts and screams and wild calls, the animals tore through the line of trees and ran headlong into the forest. But there, the danger was even greater and they got snagged into the undergrowth, struggling to break free and screaming terribly. Bilbo and his pony pushed between vicious thorn-bushes, dashing under the trees all scratched and bruised. He stole one look around himself and saw several of his companions still on horseback, while the Elves had flung themselves out of the saddle and struggled to avoid being trampled. Among the low hanging trees, it was even more perilous to stay on the ground while the desperate animals poured into the forest and many of them crashed against the trunks with sickening thuds. They would have to climb if there was any chance of surviving.

Bilbo tried to steer his pony toward the closest tree and struggled to unclench his hands from the coarse mane. But as he built up the courage to leap off and catch the lowest branch, all the air whooshed out of him in a horrified scream. From that very tree, a huge, black spider suddenly emerged, hanging on a thread and immediately spitting another at Bilbo.

The pony reared and threw him off, but saved Bilbo in its terror. As Bilbo rolled away, he saw the poor beast being snared almost immediately, sticky threads flying toward it from every direction. Lying on the moldy leaves, Bilbo stared above himself and saw several of those hideous black shapes. The trees seemed to be teeming with them, creaking and shaking and spitting out more and more of those threads.

Shaking with shock and horror, Bilbo crawled out of the way when something that might have been a boar thundered past, only to be snagged and stung when a spider just as big dropped right upon it. Breath stuck in his throat, Bilbo backed away on hands and knees, until he hit a tree-trunk. He tried to pull himself on his feet but he trembled all over and it took every ounce of courage Bilbo could muster just to stand. He groped for his sword and all of a sudden, the world blurred around him and the terrible noises grew dim for a moment.

He did not even realize that he had slipped on his magic ring until one of those hideous insects scuttled right past him and did not mark him with any of its ugly eyes. Then, Bilbo took heart and looked around, trying to spot his friends and hoping that they did not fare worse than he did. But soon, the Hobbit saw that it was not so.

Bombur was caught under the body of a dying deer and struggled to free himself, while three spiders closed in on him and caught the Dwarf's arms in their sticky snares. An ox ran straight into the threads, tearing them and stumbling when more shot out to stop it from running away. The beast crashed dangerously close to Bombur's head and beat the air with its hooves, braying desperately.

But the spiders didn't seem to concern themselves with animals. They were more interested in capturing the two-legged prey that fought back in some cases. Bilbo saw Bifur waving his spear around wildly and rushing to help free his brother.

His back against a tree, Kili fired arrow after arrow from his little bow, hitting whatever he could, but it did little to deplete the numbers of spiders or terrified beasts. Bilbo gave a shout of warning, but it was too late and Kili didn't even have the chance to look up. A thread shot out from above him and plucked the bow out of his hand. Almost in the same beat, a spider fell atop the young Dwarf and they both crashed to the forest floor in a frantic struggle.

Bilbo pulled out his sword and dashed to Kili's aid, but skidded to a halt when a shaggy cow crashed before him, kicking and screaming as its hind legs broke beneath it. Over the struggling animal, Bilbo saw Fili and Balin rushing to help Kili, but threads flew at them as well and Balin slashed at them furiously as Fili shouted wildly and tried to reach his brother.

Beneath a gnarled alder, one of the Elven twins rolled out of the way as a deer ran headlong into the tree and collapsed in a twitching heap. But before the Elf could straighten himself, a spider fell on his back and Bilbo saw the Elf open his mouth to scream as the beast sank its stinger into his back. Then, a dark shadow flitted by and Bilbo saw no more, his eyes drawn to Thorin. The Dwarf king was shouting something in his own tongue and fighting off several spiders that closed in on him. Dwalin was with him and Bilbo thought that those two would not be overcome so easily when a huge beast tore through the spiders and barreled into Dwalin. It lifted the warrior off the ground, but Dwalin had a hold on the huge horns and, as they sped out of Bilbo's sight, the Hobbit thought he saw Dwalin snapping the animal's neck.

Everywhere around him, his friends were in trouble and Bilbo didn't know where to rush to, where his help was needed the most. He stood rooted to the spot in the middle of a raging battle for survival, the air around him torn by wild screams and the hideous screeching of spiders. It seemed to the poor Hobbit that they had been pushed straight into a trap and the spiders had lain in wait for them.

But there was no time to sit and wonder about what had happened. Bilbo heard someone screaming and when he turned his head in that direction, he saw a pair of legs sticking out from beneath the extended belly of a cow. A spider was climbing atop it and as Bilbo ran to cut it off, he recognized Ori's terrified voice calling out.

The spider saw nothing more than a little blade hacking it off before it had any chance to defend itself and Bilbo dispatched it quickly, shuddering at the foul smell that oozed out of the wounds his sword had dealt. He leaped over the cow's head and spared a pitying thought to the dying animal. But Ori needed to be pulled out of there before something else came at them.

"Can you crawl away if we push this thing? Is anything broken?" Bilbo asked the Dwarf, forgetting that Ori could not see him and watching the young Dwarf's eyes grow even wider at the sound of his voice.

"Bilbo?! Where are you?"

"Right here," Bilbo lowered his blade and meant to take his magic ring off. But something crashed into him and Bilbo saw only the tawny pelt of the deer as it hurtled over him. He held his hands up to shield his face and fell against something hard. Bilbo heard a crack and deafening roar in his ears, before his eyes rolled upwards and he passed out.

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**A/N: "Heart of the Mountain" is going on a little hiatus (most likely just over the weekend), as I have no more chapters to post at the moment and no time to write over the next couple of days. Motivating as daily updates are, it's also extremely exhausting to squeeze writing between work and a lot of other day to day activities. But I will be back with the rest of the tale as soon as possible. Thank you all so very much for reading and reviewing and encouraging me to keep this adventure going.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I promised I would be back with the story after a weekend hiatus in which, luckily, the muses have been cooperative. Welcome back to lovely Mirkwood and I hope you're insured against spiders!**

**Henceforth, updates will not be daily anymore. I will post a new chapter every two days, in the hope that I'll be able to keep this updating schedule and have no need for further breaks. **

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11.

Bilbo woke to the sound of someone's muffled sobbing. He opened his eyes and blinked repeatedly, trying to dispel the fog before them. Bilbo attempted to raise himself off the ground, but he wobbled under a fierce spell of dizziness. The back of his head ached dully and his stomach rolled, making the poor Hobbit gag. He didn't have the faintest clue where he was or what had happened or why the world spun with him in such a disconcerting fashion.

Taking a few deep breaths, Bilbo slowly righted himself and felt the back of his head. Then, he had a better idea why his ears kept ringing and stars floated before his dazed eyes. He'd taken a heavy blow and there was a bump the size of an egg on the back of his head. Bilbo touched it gingerly, but felt no dampness and saw no blood on his fingers, which brought the Hobbit a small measure of consolation.

He checked himself for other injuries and sat up, staggering on very unsteady feet. Gradually, the world before him became clearer and Bilbo saw where he was. His eyes fell on the carcass of some animal that his brain refused to identify and he remembered all too clearly what had happened. The stampede, the terrified animals, the ambush and those horrible spiders… With an involuntary shiver and a fresh bout of nausea, Bilbo looked around and saw more dead animals. Broken cobwebs floated down from the trees and stuck to the carcasses, but there was no sign of any spider.

Most importantly, though, Bilbo did not see any of his friends anywhere. His heart sank and he refused to believe he had been left all alone, forgotten because nobody could see him. It was only then that Bilbo recalled he still had the ring on and he yanked it off his finger, opening his mouth to shout after the Dwarves and the Elves.

"Bilbo?! Bilbo, is that you?"

Ori came running toward him and Bilbo could honestly say he had never been more relieved to see a Dwarf his entire life. He welcomed the young Dwarf when Ori flung himself at him and hugged the Hobbit tight, but when Bilbo saw Ori's red-rimmed eyes and acute distress written all over his face, he knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

Everyone else had vanished. Ori had searched for them and found absolutely nobody. All around them, the forest floor was littered with dead animals that the spiders had not been able to carry away. But they had caught every one of their friends and Ori had escaped only by laying buried under not one but two fallen animals. He had passed out and taken a mighty bruising, but he was otherwise uninjured.

With his brothers taken and no knowledge whether they were alive or dead, Ori felt fresh tears pricking his eyes and he tugged on his beard, eying Bilbo desperately. But Bilbo didn't know what to say or what to do. He tried to give the young Dwarf some words of comfort but they sounded hollow. Ori helped him step away from where he'd lain unconscious and he gave the Hobbit a little bit of water. It revived Bilbo somewhat and together, they began scanning the trampled ground for signs of what had happened to their friends.

It felt like hours before the two of them emerged into the afternoon sun and saw what the stampede had left behind outside the forest. Nothing stirred on the beaten-down grasses and the cries of carrion birds had Bilbo squinting up into the hazy sky. More corpses lay here and there, waiting to be picked clean, but no horses or ponies were among them. Bilbo had only found his poor mount lying dead where the spiders had attacked it and he shed a few quiet tears, wondering how many of the faithful beasts he would lose before the nightmarish quest was over.

Throughout the place where the spiders had ambushed them, Bilbo and Ori found many signs of struggle and weapons scattered on the forest floor. They came upon the Elvish blades where their owners had been forced to abandon them. Orcirst lay on the withered leaves, coated in filthy spider blood, but Thorin had been dragged away from it. Ori found the sword and mace his brothers carried and each discovery had him trembling with worry for their fate. The only encouraging fact was the absence of blood wherever a struggle had taken place. The spiders had overcome both Elves and Dwarves, but they meant to take them alive and Bilbo recalled what Radagast had told them about the giant spiders of Mirkwood. Those filthy creatures stunned their prey and kept it alive for days, until it was time to feast on it.

Of course, there was little comfort in such knowledge. As soon as Ori found the trail the spiders had left as they sped off with their prey, he meant to follow it. He would rescue his brothers or, at the very least, he would not let them become some filthy beast's dinner. Bilbo could not agree more, although the prospect of venturing any deeper into that accursed forest frightened him to no end. There wasn't really any other option, but before they flung themselves after the spiders, they needed to sort themselves out and think about the means of their pursuit.

Fortunately, they found most of their friends' belongings where they had fallen and more than one backpack had survived without being trampled. As quickly as Ori and Bilbo could, they picked up food and water and stuffed it into two backpacks. They regarded the other things sadly, loathe to leave behind weapons or little knick-knacks that obviously meant a lot to their owners, since they were willing to carry them along on such a lengthy journey. But there was only so much the two of them could carry and in the late hours of the day, they shouldered the packs and said farewell to sunlight. Ori took Orcrist with him and Bilbo used one of the Elven blades as the longest and sharpest walking-stick he'd ever carried. Thus equipped, they girt themselves and set off.

Following the spiders was an easy task at first, as they had been many and the prey they carried off neither light nor few in number. Every now and then, the two of them came upon strips of cloth or strands of hair snagged by wayward branches and they searched those spots carefully, hoping for a sign that the spiders' prisoners still lived.

In the meager light that pierced the thick canopy, Bilbo and Ori followed a trail that lead westward and north, although they could not tell the direction they were walking in and would have become lost if not for the signs of the spider's passing. They were going deeper into the forest than either of them had any wish for, but nothing opposed them. A small measure of relief came when the Running barred their path, giving them at least some clue as to how far they'd gone. But crossing the quick flowing river would have been impossible if not for the thick ropes of spider silk that still hung over the gorge where waters bubbled and frothed through.

It hurt their hands to touch the smelly, sticky stuff and Bilbo was seized by vertigo so strong that he nearly blacked out as he hung onto the spider threads, but Ori kept talking to him and nudging him forward until they stood safely on the other side. From there, they pushed on, encouraged by finding one of Fili's many hidden daggers stuck in the mossy ground at their feet.

But night fell on them quickly and made it impossible to advance. The darkness was so thick they could not see their own hands as they waved them before their eyes. Getting lost in the evil forest would be the easiest thing in the world. They tried to gather wood and make some torches, but when they set fire to them, only noxious fumes poured out and it was impossible to move by what little light they gave.

Unwilling to abandon the chase though they both were, Bilbo and Ori had to stop for the night or else lose the trail and become completely lost in the malevolent forest. They lit a small fire but put it out immediately, as it drew a myriad of insects, from huge mosquitoes to moths the size of Bilbo's palm. Everything about Mirkwood was uncanny and dangerous.

They took turns trying to sleep that night, although rest would not come. They were both exhausted, but too frightened and worried to take any real rest. And although he tried to help Ori keep his spirits up, Bilbo wondered if either of them would make it out of the forest alive.

…

For two days, the Hobbit and the young Dwarf trudged through the vast darkness of Mirkwood, unsure where their desperate journey would end.

They had no real notion of direction or the passing of time, save for the varying degrees of darkness and how the forest became more closed in and the air gradually became impossible to breathe.

Bilbo had always been fond of walking through the woods in his beloved Shire, but as Mirkwood ate away his courage and any hope he had of ever seeing his home again, the Hobbit vowed never to set foot in another forest again. No less discouraged, Ori plodded on beside him, growing more despondent as time passed and he was nowhere near learning anything new about the fate of his brothers and his friends.

Some time after the second night stop they had made and well into what would have passed for morning in the outside world, Bilbo felt a change coming over the forest around them. Somehow, the sense of danger grew deeper and the gloom thickened, letting not a sliver of sunshine peek through the thick foliage. The Hobbit urged Ori to tread even more carefully and they slowed their advance, scanning their surroundings warily.

Some way ahead, where the gloom seemed deeper and the air reeked even worse than before, they thought they could hear clicks and chatter and the foliage rustling. Bilbo guessed they had finally come to the spiders' lair after following their trail for two desperate days. With no visible sign of anyone in the company, the Hobbit feared the worst, but said the exact opposite, trying to give Ori some hope.

Hope and no small amount of courage were badly needed for what they had to do next. And a great deal of stealth above all else. Bilbo meant to venture forward alone, under the cover of his magic ring, hoping to find out more before their adventure came to a sad end and the spiders captured them as well.

During their gloomy camps, Bilbo had told Ori about the ring and recounted the tale of its finding. Without knowing precisely why he did it, Bilbo found himself tailoring the story and keeping the nastiest details to himself. If Ori found any of it odd, he said nothing and accepted Bilbo's awkward explanation. The Hobbit said that his magic ring made for one remarkable tool of his trade as the company's official burglar. The time had come to put that tool and Bilbo's skill to the first real test.

The Hobbit advised Ori to take cover and stay hidden while he went to scout the surrounding area. The young Dwarf squeezed himself into the hollow of an ancient tree and covered himself with moldy leaves to be better hidden and to cover his scent. Under no circumstance was he to come out until Bilbo returned and especially not if night fell over the evil place once more.

Plucking up all the courage he had left, Bilbo slipped the ring on and began to creep through the forest as silently as only a Hobbit could. Although he took care to silence even his breathing, Bilbo still feared the pale eyes of the spiders and did not doubt their sharp sight, as the beasts dwelt and hunted in the darkness of those woods.

As he drew further away from Ori and into the rustling trees, the gloom thickened and Bilbo saw that that many webs had been woven into the trees and between them, covering the forest roof with a stifling cloak. Many spiders scuttled about, their shapes black and bloated and their eyes throwing back whatever light lingered in the accursed place in greenish glints. The Hobbit held his breath and flattened himself against the rough bark of the closest tree, his heart beating so fast it filled his ears with the thundering of his fear. Bilbo was certain that the spiders would hear him and sniff the terror that rolled of him even if he was invisible to their eyes. But when a pair of those hideous creatures dropped to the forest floor right in front of the Hobbit, they saw nothing and scuttled away, chittering among themselves.

Bilbo bit back a nervous yelp of relief and pried himself away from the tree. It took more courage than the Hobbit imagined he possessed to follow the spiders and pretend that the trees he sneaked through were not crisscrossed with sticky avenues where more of those creatures walked.

In many ways, it was worse than being caught in the goblin tunnels, or so Bilbo thought as he bemoaned his terrible fate. Under the mountains, at least he'd expected to run into foul things and to find the air impossible to breathe. But a _forest_, living and growing under the sun, couldn't possibly be so evil and stuffed with the reek of death so poignant that each time Bilbo inhaled, his stomach protested against it. And he was alone in that gods-forsaken place, without Gandalf or Elves to perform some magic trick and make it all better and without any of the fearless Dwarves to stand between him and the monstrous spiders. Bilbo had Ori, but what could the two of them do against a whole colony of hideous beasts? How were they to save the others and what if there was nobody left to save?

Bilbo ground his teeth hard and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself. He could not despair before he knew what had befallen his friends and the only way to learn that was to press forward. The Hobbit reminded himself to leave a small scratch on the nearest tree-trunk as he would never be able to find his way back to Ori without following the marks he had left in his passing.

At last and with infinite caution, Bilbo crept into the heart of the spider colony and found himself at the edge of a circular clearing. But it could only be named so loosely, because the stifling air grew no clearer. In place of the dense foliage, the spiders had woven a roof of their foul webs and only the murkiest of light penetrated the enormous cocoon. By that light Bilbo saw stumps of trees long dead and rotten peeking from some kind of shriveled vegetation. Threads of spider silk stuck to everything and bones of all sizes completed the most sinister forest floor the Hobbit had ever imagined. The smell of rot and spider waste and their poison was so potent there that Bilbo gagged and buried his nose in his sleeve, struggling to keep himself from heaving. But he forgot his nausea a moment later when his eyes ceased to water and he saw many shapes hanging from branches at the other end of the clearing.

Before he knew he was doing it, Bilbo counted the suspended shapes all wrapped in spider silk and hanging high above the ground. They were fifteen, some smaller, some longer and some wider than others. Bilbo's heart sank and his knees almost buckled when he realized that he was looking at his friends, trapped and helpless against the dozens of spiders swarming the trees they were held in.

Before his courage gave out completely, Bilbo willed himself to creep closer and see if any of the captives still lived. Heedless of his peril, Bilbo slipped from tree to tree until he was close enough to identify the cocooned shapes. But his luck held and whatever noise his advance had made could not be heard above the din of the entire colony bustling around the prisoners.

The biggest and fattest spiders hung around the branches the Dwarves and the Elves were suspended from. They poked and prodded the prisoners and Bilbo's breath caught when he thought one of the stockiest cocoons gave a weak yelp. From it, a big nose and some strands of red hair poked through the wrapping. It was Gloin and when Bilbo saw him struggling under the vicious poking and pinching, his relief knew no bounds. At least one of the Dwarves was alive!

Bombur's braided beard hung outside the tight cocoon he'd been woven into, and around him, four spiders seemed to dispute the right to their biggest prey. Bombur yelped miserably when the spiders pinched him without pity and he struggled weakly, but to no avail. The poor Dwarf was hanging upside down and he would pass out before long, if his unfortunate fate allowed him that small favor. But Bilbo meant to do something before any of his friends was eaten.

The Hobbit studied all of them carefully and hope swelled in his heart, although only some of the prisoners showed signs of life. The Elves had been hung aside, into the highest tree at the edge of the clearing, and there, several spiders stood guard. Bilbo saw one of them tentatively poking the largest of the cocooned Elves and even through the general racket, the Hobbit heard Celegorm growling angrily. If he could free the Elf and give him a weapon, perhaps he would be strong enough to fight.

Bilbo tightened his grip on the hilt of his little Elvish sword and almost started for the three in question, when he caught himself and sank back into the trunk he had sheltered against. How long before the spiders would catch him? How long before a thread snared him and made him visible? He wouldn't even have the chance to cut one of the Elves free. Not with all those spiders keeping watch and scuttling about.

As he curled himself into a miserable ball and felt despair creeping over him, Bilbo's eyes fell on the gravelly bed of a dried stream that had probably flown through the clearing in better times. He sat up abruptly and all but dashed back to where Ori lay hidden. Eyes on the trees he had marked and suddenly alive with new found courage, Bilbo ran, spurred on by the most reckless plan his rich imagination had ever conjured.


	12. Chapter 12

12.

In theory, it was a simple plan: _creep back to the clearing, distract the spiders, draw them away and give Ori the chance to free the prisoners_. The execution, however… That was another matter altogether. As Bilbo stood in the middle of the spider colony with a smooth, perfect rock in his hand, he prayed that he would get the chance to look back on what he was about to do and shake his head at the madness that possessed him.

Before he could come to his senses and change his mind, Bilbo aimed and threw the polished rock as hard as he could. It met a cluster of eyes and sank into them with a wet crunch. The great spider fell from its perch above Bombur and flopped on its back. It shuddered and died, curling all of its hideous legs.

Bilbo felt an elated shout building inside him, but clenched his teeth against it and picked up another stone, hurling it into a new target with the same accuracy. As the second spider fell dead, all movement in the clearing ceased and a hush passed over the stunned creatures. Then, they all broke out in a cacophony of hellish noises, rushing in every direction and trying to find the unseen attacker. Bilbo remained rooted to the spot and pelted the spiders with a hail of stones that caught several of them full on, before they began shooting their sticky threads at him.

He jumped and rolled out of the way, keeping to the dried stream bed and his supply of projectiles. Bilbo's courage grew and he grinned triumphantly, seeing the havoc and the terror that his stone-throwing had brought among those monstrous insects. They hunted for him desperately, hissing and spitting their foul threads and hitting each other, more often than not. All the while, Bilbo kept throwing stones and cracking their chitinous skulls or tearing through the skin of their bloated bodies. The racket grew to unimaginable heights and Bilbo spared a glance toward the prisoners, seeing them wobble and struggle, most likely terrified by the hell Bilbo had unleashed all around them.

Hoping that Ori was still safely hidden, Bilbo did the most daring thing yet. He called out to the spiders and began to sing nonsense he made up on the spot, goading the enraged beasts on and luring them away from his trapped friends. A terrible roar met the sound of his voice and Bilbo fled through the trees, with dozens of frenzied spiders in pursuit. They clambered after him, both on the ground and through the trees, spitting sticky threads and shrieking madly when none found their target. The Hobbit's pockets were filled with stones and he flitted from one tree to the next, taking down his pursuers with uncanny precision. He had never dreamed that his little hobby of target practice would be put to such use one day, but there he was, one small Hobbit against a whole army of furious monsters, hot on his heels but always a step behind.

Bilbo kept calling out to the spiders and taunting them, making sure that they were fully enraged and chasing him further away from the clearing. Before long, the whole colony dashed off in pursuit and the trees groaned under the weight of so many clambering bodies. Bilbo drew them off until he felt his legs trembling with exhaustion and his voice growing hoarse with so many shouted insults. He threw the last stone and then leaped away from the spot, watching several spiders crash into each other as they threw themselves after him. Then, more quiet than a mouse, Bilbo crept back the way he had come and his chest swelled with pride as he followed his own trail.

He ran no risk of becoming lost, as the forest floor was littered with dead or dying spiders and even though the reek of their carcasses brought tears to his eyes, Bilbo grinned triumphantly. He had done so much better than he'd hoped and the maddened spiders were far behind, searching in vain for the unseen menace that had decimated so many of their peers.

Bilbo took off his ring and broke into a run as he got closer to the clearing and saw Ori hard at work as well. Not all the spiders had dashed away after the Hobbit, but Ori had dispatched the few guards left, no doubt putting the weapons of his brothers to good use. Bilbo found Dori and Nori on their feet, trying to pry themselves free of cobwebs and groaning miserably when their own hair and beards were torn. Bofur staggered to his feet and gave Bilbo a weak smile, his face pale and his eyes wide as the Dwarf looked around himself.

Kili and Ori were up on the branches that still held their friends and kinsmen captive. Thorin's dark scowl broke through as his nephew freed him and Bilbo breathed a huge sigh of relief to see that menacing expression. It meant that their leader was alive and in control of at least some of his senses, even if Thorin wobbled and sank to his knees when he landed on the forest floor.

Fili seemed to be the liveliest of them all, quickly climbing through the branches of the highest tree, with a dagger between his teeth. Although cobwebs stuck in his hair and gave the pale Dwarf a wizened look, he spared Bilbo a grateful smile before crawling up the thick branch that the three Elves still hung from.

Celegorm broke through the sticky wrappings first and fell down on all fours, shaking himself like a dog and growling louder than one. He drew in a deep breath, coughed and gagged and then sprang to his feet, gazing about himself wildly. Fili called out to him and the Elf came to his senses, cutting and clawing through the webs that held his brothers captive.

Amrod staggered and leaned heavily against his brother, but managed to stay on his feet. Amras, however, collapsed in a heap and heaved violently, throwing up something dark and terrible looking that Bilbo hoped was not the Elf's blood. His brothers propped Amras against the tree and tried to keep him upright, but Amras was as limp as a rag-doll and could barely remain conscious.

Bilbo didn't know who needed help more and where to rush first. Amras was not the only one in such a terrible state. Poor Bombur had finally lost consciousness after gods knew how much terrible torture. His brothers knelt beside him and tried to wake him up, but to no avail. Bifur was only marginally better and close by, Oin also coughed and sputtered the same dark stuff that Amras had expelled.

Bilbo felt his own gorge rising and tried to steady himself. Although he was terribly thirsty after the long chase, he unclasped his flask and handed it to Gloin. They helped his brother take a sip and clean his mouth of the foul stuff, then passed the flask around.

But Bilbo's eyes were soon drawn to Dwalin and the heartbreaking expression on his face as he picked up his brother and Balin hung limp in the warrior's hold. Bilbo ran to them, frantically checking Balin's breathing and his heartbeat. The poor Dwarf was all white, covered in webs of the same color as his hair and beard. But he was not dead and Dwalin sagged with relief, gently setting Balin back down and trying to free him of the nasty threads.

There was, however, very little time to check themselves for injuries and almost nothing to revive themselves on. Ori had also brought some water with him, but the packs were stowed away in the hollow the young Dwarf had hidden himself before. After a few moments passed and some of the confusion cleared, Bilbo urged them all to flee that awful place and follow him to the few provisions he and Ori had managed to carry and save. Fortunately, all their companions were alive and would benefit from their thoughtfulness, but some of them could not walk and needed to be carried.

Celegorm and Amrod shouldered their brother and helped him drag himself along, while Amras groaned and his head lolled to and fro in a disconcerting fashion. Dwalin carried his brother with visible effort and even though Thorin tried to support him, they both ambled about dizzily. After being stung and trapped and left without any sustenance for days, Bilbo was surprised they were even conscious, let alone able to walk. The grueling task of lugging Bombur out of there fell on everyone else who could stand and in a pitiful fashion, the whole company staggered away from the clearing.

They had barely made it through the line of trees when the first spiders returned. The angry clamor they issued when they discovered their captives missing made all the hair on the back of Bilbo's head stand up. He saw Celegorm and Amrod setting their brother down and shielding him from the threat, glaring darkly at the cluster of spiders and cursing their lack of proper weapons. All they had were the daggers hidden in their boots and those would help them very little in close combat with spiders. The same could be said for the rest of the company and Bilbo sighed wearily, wondering why on earth he and Ori had not thought to bring Orcrist and Celegorm's sword with them.

He could not make them all invisible, nor could he defend them with his little sword. All the Hobbit could do was trust his luck and count on the fact that if those monstrous insects had been fooled once, they would be fooled again. Bilbo thrust his little sword into Celegorm's hands and ignored the Elf's confused expression. He ran off into the trees and pretended he could not hear some of his companions sputtering indignantly. When he thought he had escaped their sight, Bilbo slipped on the magic ring again and returned to the clearing.

He stocked up on pebbles once more and withdrew between two old trees, taking shelter under their intertwined branches and resuming his target-practice. Bilbo threw stone after stone after stone until his arm began to ache and his shoulder protested against the abuse. He flitted between the trees and ran to the dried stream to pick up more projectiles. Even though his aim grew poorer with every new attempt, he had hit so many spiders that the ones still unharmed retired in fear of the hunter they could not see or snare in any of their wicked webs.

Bilbo's companions did not sit idly either. With the little strength they had left, they picked up whatever could be thrown and imitated Bilbo, although they could see him no better than the spiders did. Dwalin stood guard by the injured and unconscious members of their party, growling angrily and cutting down the stray threads that some of the spiders threw at them.

Before long, under the combined assault of such determined and fearless foes, the spiders withdrew and fled. In all likelihood, nothing had done them such great harm in a long time and in the very heart of their realm at that. No snared prey had ever managed to escape and fight back so ferociously. Their numbers reduced dramatically and under fear of certain death, the remaining spiders scurried off as far and as fast as they could.

Bilbo did not know how many of the foul creatures lay dead, nor did he want to know, even if he had taken down most of them. All he wished for was a sip of cool water and a safe spot where he could curl into a ball and sleep for a week. With the immediate threat finally driven away, the Hobbit's strength came to an abrupt end and he felt himself shaking all over. Exhaustion and shock threatened to make him collapse on the spot and, with one last effort, Bilbo pocketed his ring and staggered back to the others.

He found both Elves and Dwarves no worse than he had left them, but not much better either. They were picking up their injured once more and trying to decide which way to go, while Ori paced about, shouting Bilbo's name. It riled the Hobbit up to see that some of the Dwarves thought he had simply run away. Had they been blind and missed the hail of stones raining down on the spiders just moments before? Did they think that Gandalf had somehow magically appeared and saved the day again?

"Ah, Bilbo. There you are!" Kili spotted him first and waved frantically. "Are you alright? Where did you run off to?"

Frowning darkly, Bilbo pushed past the young Dwarf and walked straight to Celegorm. He plucked his sword from the Elf's hand and met Celegorm's surprised expression with a hard look.

"Bilbo Baggins… it seems you only show your mettle when hard put to it. I don't know how you did it, but I feel we all owe you our lives right now," the Elf nodded, studying Bilbo intently. "I know you're small and nimble, but how on earth did you get past all the spiders?"

"How indeed…," Dwalin stepped closer, cocking his head and giving Bilbo a doubtful look.

"It is of little importance now," Thorin thundered behind them. "Bilbo will let us know when we have the leisure to discuss it safely. But that is the exact opposite of what we are now. Do not fool yourselves and believe that we are no longer under threat. See to our wounded and let us be gone from this place before we all fall flat on our faces with exhaustion. You say that you have some provisions with you?" Thorin turned to Bilbo.

The Hobbit nodded, his displeasure lessening somewhat, but only because he did not have enough energy left to sulk.

"Lead the way, then," the Dwarf beckoned him. "And Tyelkormo is right. We owe you our lives. Both you and Ori have shown great courage and cleverness," Thorin turned to the young Dwarf and even though it took all his control to keep himself steady, Thorin clasped Ori's shoulder and gave him a proud smile.

Ori's bashful expression and his stammered acceptance of such high praise immediately diffused the tension and mistrust that seemed to hang over the company, just as heavy as the cob-webs above them did. If anyone harbored further misgivings, they showed no outward sign of it and quietly followed Bilbo through the dark maze of Mirkwood.


	13. Chapter 13

Fili could not recall ever being so thirsty his whole life. He had gone without food and water before and a Dwarf could endure much deprivation if circumstances were dire, but never before had his mouth and his throat been so parched, nor had he ever felt such an acute need to drink something... _anything_.

Oin and the Elves said that the spider poison was still at work and, for some of them, the effects were very slow to pass. They had all been trapped without any kind of sustenance or healing for days and it was a small miracle that they had escaped with their hides more or less intact. Fili knew that they owed it all to their remarkable Hobbit and made sure to express his appreciation whenever he could. But even clever little Bilbo could not make food and water appear out of thin air and the few provisions he and Ori had carried disappeared quickly when divided between so many hungry and thirsty people.

The most affected by the spider poison among them could not take even a single morsel and what little water could be spared came right back up, as their bodies struggled to expel the poison. Amras floated in an out of consciousness and his skin had taken on an ashen hue that worried his brothers to no end. Bombur had woken but could not carry his own weight for more than a few steps before collapsing in a miserable heap. To Dwalin's and Thorin's mounting distress, Balin did not stir at all and their potions master was not much better off himself. Without any supplies or medicine at hand, nothing could be done for the sick and all the others struggled with their own weakness, trudging ahead before night fell over Mirkwood and darkness swallowed them completely.

In spite of the slow and torturous advance, Thorin meant to leave the forest the same way he had been dragged into it and said that they should follow the trail Bilbo and Ori had taken in pursuit of the spiders. He asked the two of them to lead the way and stay alert, especially for the sound of running water.

Hunger they could all tolerate better and the spider poison had left their insides mostly numb, if not twisted in knots. But every step forward through the suffocating ill will of Mirwood increased their thirst and as the darkness deepened into a gloomy evening, Fili's imagination began to play tricks on him. He thought he could hear streams gurgling in their stony beds or slithering beneath the gnarled roots of old trees. Cool, clear springs to drink one's full and to wash away all the spider filth that clung to him like a horrible second skin. Fili saw before his dazed eyes the countless fountains and waterfalls of Rivendell and thought he might cry, if his eyes were not so scratchy and dry.

Kili did not have to tell him a word about how terrible he felt. Fili knew he had been stung twice as opposed to the one dark bruise and puncture mark Fili bore just below his ribs. Whatever terrible need tortured him, Kili felt it much worse and the young Dwarf had grown very quiet as they all followed Bilbo morosely.

If Fili were not so exhausted and thirsty and filled with concern for the others, he would have been the first to applaud and enjoy the way Bilbo had risen in his comrades' esteem. Neither of them would ever contest the Hobbit's immeasurable courage after he described the spider chase and how close to being snared he had been the entire time. But even Fili was somewhat disbelieving of how a single little Hobbit, armed with nothing else but throwing rocks, could draw off and kill so many of those beasts. How, when they'd all been caught and each of them prided himself with being a greater warrior than Bilbo Baggins ever hoped to become?

Ori mentioned Bilbo's secret weapon, however, and suddenly it made sense why he had escaped and how he had been able to execute his desperate rescue mission. What a remarkable thing to possess, a magic ring that made the owner invisible! As Bilbo stammered and explanation about the wonderful ring in question and how chance had brought it into his possession deep beneath the Misty Mountains, it became clear how he had evaded capture and death at the hands of the goblins as well. There was more to the Hobbit than met the eye and Fili's respect for Bilbo grew. Gandalf, it seemed, had known what he was doing when recommending such a fine burglar to Thorin and his company.

Plagued by many hurts though they were, both Dwarves and Elves were eager to see Bilbo's magic ring. But, to Fili's surprise, a change came over the friendly Hobbit all of a sudden. It might have been night falling early over that gods-forsaken place, but it was also Bilbo's countenance darkening when he was asked to bring forth the ring. He fidgeted and fingered his pockets, drawing away from his companions defensively.

Celegorm frowned suspiciously and Fili saw him ready to pry the ring from Bilbo whether the Hobbit willed it or not. But, as the Elf loomed over Bilbo, his brother suffered another violent fit of nausea and Celegorm instantly forgot all about magic rings. Bilbo made himself scarce, scouting ahead for a half-decent place to camp in and the incident passed with Ori telling them it wasn't really anything special, just a simple golden ring. Still, Fili found Bilbo's sudden defensiveness odd and he wondered whether the Hobbit wished to keep his treasure hidden from someone in particular. Perhaps he feared that the Elves would want to take the ring and study it and try to replicate the magic it performed. Whatever it was, Fili knew that Bilbo would have to share it sooner or later, but their present circumstances didn't allow for any concerns with ring lore. Trying to survive the night and escape the darkness of Mirkwood took every ounce of energy they had left.

Before long, night fell early and abruptly, bringing with it a blindness of the eyes and an exhaustion that could not longer be fought off. They had come to a part of the forest where most of the trees were beeches and there was little undergrowth to bar their path, but they had to forsake the march. Thorin called a halt and they huddled together near the trunk of a great beech that rose high above them, its bark smooth and the first branches out of reach even for Celegorm.

Try as they might, Fili did not think that either of them could stay awake. They hadn't rested at all while the spiders held them captive, merely blacked out if they were fortunate enough to lose consciousness for some time. The fear of spiders returning to hunt them lingered in their thoughts, but sleep came as a blessing and a relief for them. It was best to forget their hurts and their hunger and the terrible thirst for a while, even in that dark and perilous place.

Fili struggled to stay awake and keep watch (or rather listen, because even Elvish eyes could make out little in the heavy gloom that blanketed the forest). But not even guilt and the gnawing worry for his companions could keep him awake for long and the young Dwarf fell asleep holding onto his brother.

It felt as though only a moment had passed when Fili was startled from uneasy sleep and he sat up, blinking owlishly. At first, he could see nothing and Fili struggled to remember where he was, but when he regained some of his senses, the first thing he noticed was Kili missing from his side.

Whether his eyes had finally become adjusted to the lack of light or dawn had already come to the outside world, Fili did not know, but gradually, he began to distinguish the shapes of his sleeping companions.

"What is the matter?" one of the shadows stirred and Fili recognized Amrod's voice.

"I don't know where Kili is. Have you seen him?" the young Dwarf whispered.

"No. I… woke up just now. I tried to stay awake but I didn't last very long," Amrod moved away from the spot he'd sat in and Fili thought he saw the Elf looking around for his own brothers. "I didn't see or hear Kili, but you're right. He is not here."

"Where in Mahal's name is he?!" Fili staggered to his feet, his empty stomach churning with fresh worry.

Amrod motioned him to be quiet and they both heard the faint sounds of foliage crackling under the weight of someone's feet. Of course, it could also be some _thing_ and not a person, either approaching them or drawing away. Amrod pulled a knife from his boot and nudged the closest Dwarf to him awake. If anything, danger would not catch them fast asleep.

But Fili somehow knew that it was his brother who stumbled through the forest. He could not explain the feeling and simply followed his gut instinct as it screamed that Kili was in danger. The young Dwarf palmed the only knife he hadn't lost throughout the unfortunate adventure and started off in what he hoped was the right direction.

Ignoring the calls after him and cursing the way they blotted out the rustle of foliage ahead of him, Fili sped past the pillars of beech that held up the oppressing forest roof. He shouted Kili's name and caught shadow flitting at the edge of his limited sight.

"Kili, wait!" he called out again, willing his legs to move faster.

There was no answer, but Fili continued to run, barely catching himself and skidding to a halt when the ground fell abruptly before him and he sent a small avalanche of dead leaves tumbling down the slope.

"I found water!" Fili heard his brother shouting triumphantly and held his breath for a moment, squinting into the ravine. Over his thunderous heartbeat and the sheer elation of finding his brother, Fili discerned the gurgling and splattering of water against rock.

A little stream flowed at the bottom of the ravine and the blessed sound of trickling water made Fili's throat constrict with longing. He took a tentative step, trying not to lose his footing and tumble all the way down, but the young Dwarf wanted nothing more than to join his brother and plunge his face into the cool water.

"No! Kili, don't!"

Someone yelled behind Fili and a dark shape hurtled past him, all but flying down the slope.

"Don't drink the water!" Fili realized it was Amrod and saw the Elf launching himself toward Kili. They were little more than shadowy shapes and Fili clambered down to them, confused and worried by the Elf's agitation. Amrod held Kili back from the water and tried to still his flailing limbs, while Kili sputtered and cursed and tried to shove the Elf out of the way.

The struggle lasted only a moment longer and before Fili could ask what in Mahal's name the matter was, Kili managed to push Amrod out of the way. The Elf gave an inarticulate cry and lunged for Kili, grabbing only the side of his leather coat. Kili was already standing in the stream and when Amrod twisted himself for one more desperate try to keep him from drinking, he lost his footing on the muddy rocks and fell face down into the dark water. The Elf pulled Kili down with him and although the stream could not be more than a foot deep, both of them managed to drench themselves from head to toe.

Fili felt an involuntary grin tugging his lips at the sight of his brother scrambling for some solid footing on the slippery rocks and spluttering angrily at the Elf.

Amrod ignored Kili's protests and dragged himself out of the stream. He touched his wet face and felt blood trickling from his forehead, where he had split his skin against the rocks. But Amrod paid the scratch little mind. He coughed and gagged and sucked in a ragged breath.

"It's just as I feared…," he croaked. "Don't drink the water. It's… poisoned."

As the ominous whisper slipped past the Elf's lips, Amrod fell back onto the damp foliage, his mouth hanging open and his eyes vacant.

"Fili… I don't feel well. I don't know what's happening…," Kili ambled out of the water, holding out his hand and groping for his brother weakly.

Paralyzed by new fear, all Fili could do was stare in horror as Kili's face grew expressionless and his legs gave out beneath him. Kili pitched forward and crashed into his brother, heavy and completely limp.

Fili cried out and tried his best to cushion the fall. His heart raced madly and shock ripped through the bottom of his stomach in a terrible spasm. What new horror had befallen them and what was wrong with Kili? Just like the Elf, Kili's eyes were completely empty and his mouth hung open as though the muscles of Kili's jaw no longer worked.

Desperate to see if his brother still breathed, Fili struggled to sit up, but their combined weight was almost too much for his quivering arms. Somehow, Fili managed to lower his brother onto his back and then he tore through Kili's damp clothes, flattening his ear against Kili's chest and praying frantically for a heart-beat.

A sob broke past his lips when Fili heard what he so desperately wished for. Kili's heart thumped against his rib cage in a steady pattern that belied the poor Dwarf's lifeless appearance. Tears of relief trickled down Fili's cheeks and he learned that he had been wrong to believe thirst could dry his eyes.

But that same thirst had poisoned both Kili and Amrod and when Fili recalled the Elf's attempts to keep Kili away from the dark water, fresh fear coursed through him. They were both alive and still breathing, but for how long? And what could he do to help them? How was he to keep them from a worse fate if…

Fili opened his mouth and let out an inarticulate cry for help. He cradled Kili's head against his chest and stared at the lip of the slippery slope, desperately willing someone to come to his aid.


	14. Chapter 14

14.

"I will never ask Thranduil for help!" Thorin growled.

Planted firmly on his feet and arms folded across his chest, the Dwarf glared darkly at the equally enraged Elf before him.

"The only way I will ever meet that heartless bastard is on the battlefield, where I can finally show him the business end of my sword," Thorin clutched the hilt of his Elven blade.

Orcrist was once more strapped at his side and the irony of Thorin wishing to dispatch the Elven King with a blade of his own people did not escape Fili. He bit his lip against the inappropriate remark that sprang to his mind in reply. But how long he would be able to keep quiet was another matter altogether. Along with his hungry and ailing companions, he watched the dispute between their king and Celegorm with mounting impatience, wondering who would prevail and to what end.

Throughout the hours of a grey and unhappy morning, they had not moved a step away from camp, forgetting the miserable state they were in and hovering around the sleeping forms of Amrod and Kili. They had brought the two out of the ravine and laid them on beds of dried leaves, anxiously checking them for signs of life and awareness. Both Oin and Celegorm agreed that their kinsmen were sleeping and had succumbed to some kind of enchantment that floated in the dark waters of the stream.

That brought Fili a small measure of relief, but nobody could say what the effects of that deep sleep would be or how long before Kili and Amrod would come to their senses. They had been in a bad way to begin with and even without further poisoning, Fili could not push back the gnawing worry. Not when Kili lay there motionless, pale and so very quiet that Fili could not even hear his breathing unless he put his ear against Kili's lips. The Elf at his side appeared even less alive, his skin colorless against his blood-red hair and his vacant eyes were wide open, in spite of how Amras gently attempted to close them.

After his panic had subsided and Celegorm managed to calm himself, he left Amras to look after their brother and stalked off without a word. Amras could not have followed him even if he wished to, as he was still very weak and could hardly stand on his own, let alone chase after anyone. Celegorm did not answer when Fili and Thorin called after him, but they saw the Elf scaling the tallest beech he could find.

In the perpetual twilight of Mirkwood and from that distance, Celegorm resembled a giant spider, going up the wide trunk and disappearing into the thick foliage. He did not give his companions much time to wonder what he was doing, though, as he dropped back down a few minutes later and returned to camp. That was when the argument with Thorin began.

From the top of the great tree, Celegorm had seen the line of the Forest River crossing Mirkwood in the north and the hills rising on the eastern border, where the river passed through Thranduil's halls. The Elf said that they could be no more than two days away and if they marched northward in a straight line, they would come across an Elven path through the forest. Elrond of Rivendell had suggested that seldom trod path as a possible route across Mirkwood in what seemed like another lifetime to Fili.

Celegorm wanted to seek out the Elves and ask them for aid, but predictably, Thorin would have none of that. Surprisingly, Amras argued with his older brother as well and even though Fili could not understand a word of it, it was plain to see that Amras did not agree with his brother's plan, in spite of how dire the company's need for aid had become.

For his part, Fili understood the enmity between his people and Thranduil and he shared his uncle's loathing of those Elves, but as long as Kili lay there in that terrible swoon, it did not matter where help came from, so long as it came quickly and he could hear Kili's voice again. They were stranded in a forest that seemed determined to vanquish them at every turn, sick and injured and without any provisions. With each passing moment, Fili found it more and more difficult to keep himself from shouting that it was a terrible time to hold onto pride and old grudges.

"Believe me, I would feed Thranduil a knife to the hilt, if I had that option," Celegorm growled, looming over Thorin. "Those Elves are not my friends either. They are nothing like Elrond's people and they will not welcome me anymore than they will welcome you. But we need help!"

"No! If you seek them out, Thranduil's archers will take us prisoners. Don't you understand? Haven't you heard anything of what I've said about them? They left us to die once, what makes you think they won't do it again? Who knows, they may be out there right now, watching us and making sport of our predicament!"

"But… they're Elves. I don't see how Elves could do that. They wouldn't leave _anyone_ to starve in the woods like this," Celegorm shook his head.

Fili heard Bilbo coughing loudly and Celegorm's eyes narrowed in his direction, an ugly grimace passing over the Elf's face for the briefest of moments. But before Fili could even begin to question it, Celegorm began to pace and wave his hands as he argued with Thorin.

"You don't know these Elves," Thorin insisted. "I'm telling you, they won't help us. We'll be captured and dragged before their king like a pack of stray dogs. Thranduil will want to know what our business is and I'll sooner die than tell him a single word about it!"

"Fine then, die if you will!" Celegorm shouted. "But I will not! Look at my brothers! Look at your kinsmen! How long do you think they will last like this? We have nothing! We can't hunt in this place and the waters are poison. It'll take us days to leave the forest and then what? You mean to trudge on and drag our wounded for Eru knows how long and even if we reach the Running before we all collapse with thirst, how will we cross it?"

"We'll find a way. And we will endure. Do not underestimate the strength of my people. Rather, concern yourself with that of yours."

Fili sprang to his feet and leaped toward the angry Elf, catching Celegorm's arm and giving it a hard squeeze. He felt Celegorm tensing and shaking with barely repressed anger and knew that it would end very badly for them all if he and Thorin did not keep their formidable tempers in check.

"My uncle means you no insult," Fili croaked, coughing to clear his parched throat. "We will help you carry your brothers to safety."

A shuddering breath hissed past Celegorm's clenched teeth and he crouched before Fili, looking at him rather than paying attention to the glowering Thorin.

"I know you will," the Elf replied hoarsely. "But say we manage to crawl out of the forest. Say we don't lose our way and we are not attacked again and neither of us collapses by the time we are out in the sun-light again. What then? We'll still starve. Our horses and ponies are long gone and you heard what Bilbo and Ori said… Everything we carried with us is trampled and lost. What are we going to eat? There won't be anything left to hunt out there, not even field mice, after that stampede. Not unless you mean to feast like carrion birds on a week old carcasses that they haven't picked clean yet. Something evil was at work behind those animals and it may still be out there, waiting to destroy us if we emerge from the forest. But even if it were safe and we had strength to hunt, what would we catch anything with? Our bows are destroyed, we have just two good swords between us and if your uncle means to lead us north to Esgaroth, that means more days of marching on foot. Do you think we can do that? If my brother and yours do not wake by then, even if the effects of the spider poison pass for the rest of us, do you think we will have the strength to carry them and ourselves for so long?"

"I don't know," Fili whispered, raising an unsteady hand and gripping Celegorm's shoulder. He could see past his friend's anger and read the anxiousness beneath. Somehow, that was worse than any other threat, as the Elves had always been impassive in the face of danger. But Celegorm was so concerned and uncertain and he seemed to be pleading with Fili, hoping perhaps that he would help change Thorin's mind.

"Look… I would not even think about going anywhere near Thranduil and his people. My brothers and I will, in all likelihood, have a worse reception in those halls than you, Fili. We would risk more than you know by going there and father will be furious with me. But he would be angrier if I let us wallow in this miserable state and not do what's best for my brothers' health," the Elf shook his head and raised himself back to his full height. "I am sorry, Thorin. Leave if you will, but I will take my brothers north. We will crawl on our own if we must, but I will see them healed even at the risk of Thranduil's wrath against us."

"I do not know what you have done to fear my father's wrath so much, my Lord," a voice wafted toward the company from somewhere among the trees. "But you are not mistaken in your belief that we will aid you with your wounded."

Every Dwarf able to stand jumped to his feet and brandished whatever weapon they had, even if those were no more than branches and sticks and stones. Thorin raised Orcrist and growled fiercely, ready to charge whoever that voice belonged to. In front of Fili, Celegorm whirled around, but did not touch the sword at his side.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" he called out.

From behind one of the huge tree-trunks, a shadow materialized, obscured from head to toe in a cloak that mimicked its surroundings perfectly, making whoever wore it almost invisible. But when the hood was pulled down by gloved hands, it revealed the blond head of a smiling Elf.

"I am Legolas and it is my father's aid that some of you wish to seek, if I have understood correctly," the Elf tilted his head in greeting.

Fili heard Amras groaning and caught the Elf passing a hand over his face. If he understood correctly, a prince stood before them and even though he did not seem unfriendly, Fili knew that the Elves mastered dissimulation to a fault. And he had crept up to them unheard, spying on them while they debated which road to take. Fili's fears were immediately confirmed when Legolas made a small gesture with his hand and all around the company a circle of archers made themselves visible.

The Dwarves growled angrily and tightened their own circle around their wounded. Thorin let out a curse that Fili dearly hoped none of the Elves could understand and seemed ready to sell his freedom at the highest possible cost. It would come to that, Fili feared, seeing the arrows pointed at them and the stern faces of Thranduil's archers.

"Let me handle this," Celegorm raised his hand, giving Thorin a hard look from the corner of his eye. "Let me talk to them."

"You will not speak for me and bargain with this Elf in my name without my leave!" Thorin thundered. "Is this how you treat all travelers that pass through your lovely forest?" the Dwarf sneered at Thranduil's son.

"We treat travelers with the attention they earn for themselves, Thorin Oakenshield. You and your company have caused a great disturbance in your coming here. I believe we are well within our rights to investigate the matter," Legolas replied smoothly, the small smile never leaving his features.

"Tell your archers to lower their weapons, we mean no harm," Celegorm said, in spite of how most of his companions showed the exact opposite.

"Then have your Dwarf lord put that fine blade away himself. We mean you no harm either."

Both Elves eyed Thorin expectantly as the Dwarf very grudgingly lowered Orcrist, but still kept the weapon ready. Legolas nodded toward his archers and they shouldered their bows in one quick motion. But they kept formation and eyed the Dwarves warily.

"You have run into the most spider-infested area of Mirkwood, it seems," Legolas said, slowly walking toward them.

Fili watched him closely, marveling at how the greens and grays and browns of his clothes made him blend with his surroundings. If not for the Elf's pale-blond hair and his luminous eyes, he could have flattened himself against a tree and disappeared completely, even without the aid of a magic ring.

Legolas held out both hands, palms open to show that he was not armed and approached them with peaceful intentions.

"Your people seem to be doing a fine job at keeping this place so safe and hospitable," Thorin muttered. There were still strands of spider silk in his hair and on his clothes, to attest that he had indeed been visiting the most spider-infested area of Mirkwood.

Fili saw the Elf's jaw clench for a moment, before Legolas smoothed his expression and nodded slowly.

"Unfortunately, my people have been hard pressed by the darkness encroaching our home. If you mean to imply that we let spiders roam through Mirkwood and destroy the forest unchallenged, you are mistaken, Master Dwarf."

"That is not what my uncle meant to say," Fili cleared his throat and braved Thorin's wrath, flinching when he felt angry eyes at his back. "We are weary and hungry and we have barely escaped with our lives after being held captive by spiders for… I do not even know how long it has been. Two or three days… I cannot even recall when we were taken."

"Days...?" Legolas blinked.

"Yes. The spiders caught us at the edge of the forest and dragged us all the way to their lair. I can't…," Fili passed a hand over his face. "I do not remember much about that journey and I do not wish to think back on it either. They had us wrapped from head to toe in their foul silk and dragged us along until we were all bruised and tender for them to feast on. If not for two of our friends who escaped capture and rescued us, we would be dead right now."

The Mirkwood prince frowned and shuddered minutely at Fili's description of their torment.

"We are still suffering from the poison and the most terrible thirst. Unfortunately," Fili turned and gave Kili a sad look. "My brother found a stream not far from here and did not know that it is foul. Our friend tried to stop him from drinking, but they both fell in and they have been like this ever since."

"That is quite enough, Fili," Thorin growled. "They can see for themselves if they want to. And I wouldn't be surprised if all you get for your trouble is an arrow pointed at your face."

"Prepare to be surprised, then, Thorin Oakenshield," Legolas smiled thinly. "You may think of my people in less than flattering terms, but we will not leave you to starve or perish from sickness."

"You seem very familiar with my name, Elf. How long have you sat in hiding and spied on my company?"

"Long enough to hear your debate. Certainly long enough to catch some of your names and recognize who you are. But I am mystified by the presence of Elves in your company and the reason you have been caught trespassing through this part of Mirkwood. Truthfully, I am mystified by a lot of things," the prince said.

"We will explain what we can if you offer us your aid. Much is afoot in your forest, here and further south that you may not know of. Perhaps your father has news of that. If not, he will be interested in hearing what we have to say…," Celegorm paused and eyed the prince pointedly.

"If we offer you our aid?" Legolas finished his sentence. "I believe I have volunteered that already. Surely you, my Lord, have not the same false beliefs about my people as your Dwarven companions do. "

Celegorm's lips quirked into a terse smile in answer.

"Whatever supplies and medicine my archers carry are at your disposal," Legolas said. "But I must say, it surprises me to see Noldor traveling to this part of the world and in the company of Dwarves, no less. The only Elves of your kin visit our court in diplomatic delegations from Rivendell and the Grey Havens, but very rarely. I would have your names if I may."

Amras hissed something to his brother in the High Tongue, making the Mirkwood Elf start and his eyes widen in surprise.

"I am Tyelkormo," Celegorm said. "My brothers are both called Ambarussa. Mother's choice, and a poor one for twin brothers, but we manage."

Fili saw Legolas sucking in a sharp breath and eying Celegorm with obvious surprise.

"You… truthfully? _Those _are your names?" the Mirkwood Elf asked Celegorm, doubt quickly replacing astonishment on his features.

"Those are our names," Celegorm stared at the shorter Elf intently. "Why do you question it?"

"Well... some years ago, a man came to our halls asking after an Elf called Tyelkormo," Legolas said.

"A man?"

"A young bowman from Lake Town."

"Bard?" Celegorm whispered and Fili saw the Elf's hands suddenly shaking. "What that his name?"

"I think so. Yes."

Celegorm closed his eyes and let out a pained sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"An acquaintance of yours, perhaps?" Legolas asked him.

"I knew that man, yes. When was this? What did you tell him?"

"A decade may have passed, I do not recall precisely. To the best of my knowledge, that man is still a guard of the city, but I have not seen him again. And we told him that we know no Elf by the name of Tyelkormo. None of the Noldor we have ever met bears that Quenya name. No one _alive_ that we know of, at least. We told the bowman that whoever gave him that name must have lied and probably vanished for a reason, although Bard would not tell us what his business with the Elf in question – with _you – _was, at the time."

"Of course he wouldn't," Celegorm sighed once more and smiled sadly. "Walk with me, young prince. There are some things I must speak with you about."

"Turko, be careful…," Amras warned.

"Be quiet!" the blond eyed his brother pointedly. "Let them help you and Pityo and don't say another word. I will handle this. It would be well, Thorin Oakenshield, if you eased your pride a fraction and allowed the Elves to aid you. It looks like we don't have much say in the matter, anyway. Now," Celegorm clasped the shorter Elf's shoulder, heedless of how every Mirkwood archer tensed at that gesture. "If you will…"

To Fili's surprise and Thorin's suspicious annoyance, Legolas let Celegorm draw him aside and they strode away from the company. Four archers followed their prince, wary and suspicious of the way Celegorm still had a hold on him. Fili stared after them and bit his lip, dearly hoping that Celegorm would do nothing reckless and put them all in further danger.


	15. Chapter 15

15.

"Must I carry this?" Curufin plucked the string of his Lorien longbow and wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It's cumbersome and it hurts my shoulder."

"Your shoulder is just fine, Curufinwë. I checked it myself this morning, there's hardly a scratch left," Maedhros replied. "Quit whining, I went through too much trouble to secure these bows for you to complain that you don't want one."

"Trouble? I thought your charm is so potent that all you have to do is bat your eyelashes and even that frigid bitch will melt and obey your every command."

"Curufinwë…"

Fëanor chuckled and nudged his horse a little closer. That was a conversation he wanted to hear and perhaps contribute to. Although it could be extremely troublesome at times, Curufin's loud mouth and his offensive humor never failed to amuse him. And, in all honesty, some amusement and distraction were badly needed, as day after day passed and they rode north along the eastern border of Mirkwood in utter monotony.

"Whaaaat?!" Curufin whined. "Come on, it's just us, Nelyo. You can drop the nice guy act, you don't have to convince me that you shoot rainbows out of your ass, I know you do."

"Fine, you pest!" Maedhros groaned. "But just so you know it, if you kept that filthy mouth of yours shut, I wouldn't have to try so hard. Have you any idea how much I had to smile and apologize to get that stuck-up Marchwarden to give you his bow?"

"Pfft! Haldir should feel honored that I took it," Curufin rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure he feels that _you're_ the honored one. And it is a good bow, you have to give the Lothlorien Elves that much credit."

"Sure, sure, whatever. I'm sure they use it to catch their mates, too. And shoot them dead before they actually consummate, because no hot-blooded, self-respecting person would get anywhere near those frozen faeries."

"Elrond married one," Maedhros said.

"That's your fault, you didn't teach him well enough when he was a kid."

"I was… a little busy at the time," Maedhros gave his brother a pointed look.

"Curufinwë, don't be mean. Spare your brother at least," Fëanor rode up to his errant son and nudged him gently.

"Mmmhmm… as if any of you ever spares me," Maedhros grumbled. "Don't give me that affronted look, atar, you don't make my life any easier either."

"I'm sorry, Nelyo. It's not my fault you've inherited your mother's patience and your grandfather's gift for diplomacy," Fëanor shrugged and gave his eldest son a lopsided grin.

"Oh. Wonderful. Just my luck, that diplomacy in our family skipped a generation," Maedhros sighed. "You know… next time I have to step in and smooth over some situation or other, I promise you that I will not. Next time my services are required, I will step back and be a snot-nosed brat and I'll enjoy myself watching you pick up the pieces."

"What, you think I can't do it?" Curufin's eyebrow rose.

"Of course you can. That's what bugs me. You can be a sweet-tongued, charming, slithery little fiend but you'd rather grouch and pin it all on me," Maedhros replied, making his father wonder how much of the exchange was joking and how fed up with his part in the family dynamics Maedhros really was.

"Mercy , Nelyo, it's not that Curufinwë can't play nice... He can, but most times, he doesn't need do."

"Mmm… I have that big, blond oaf to smile prettily and spread his charms around for both of us," Curufin grinned. "He has everyone at 'hello' and then it doesn't matter how much I snip and snark, they're all dazzled by the shiny. And that happens with you too, Nelyo. You're so shiny we don't even have to hide behind you, it just blinds everyone."

"Are you jealous, little brother?"

"Gods, no!"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely sure. Why would I envy you when you're complaining about being saddled with this ingrate job of playing nice when you don't feel like it? No, thank you."

"I wonder…," Fëanor eyed his eldest son intently. "Was talking to Artanis really that unpleasant? Is there something you're not telling us?"

"Yes, Nelyo… what's the matter? You should have said something if her Tree-hugging Majesty gave you such grief. For all the diplomacy in the world, I'd have told her to take her bows and her provisions and shove them where the sun doesn't shine. Which could be anywhere, in her case."

Fëanor snickered quite loudly, but Maedhros didn't seem very amused.

"Next time we run into Artanis, you're welcome to do that. And don't count on me to say otherwise," he grumbled.

Fëanor nudged his horse toward his eldest son and patted Maedhros' shoulder.

"What's wrong, Nelyo? Why are you so worked up about this?" he inquired gently.

"It's just… I'm fed up, atar. I'm tired of having to explain myself and to justify what we are doing to random people everywhere we go. You say that we are answerable to no one, but we're questioned all the time and I have had enough of it," Maedhros sighed.

"Well, it's their world we are in. Unfortunately, simply landing here and taking over doesn't work this time around."

"Fine. But I'm still sick of it. I just want to stop lying and spinning the truth and next time someone asks me who I am, I want to say it proudly. And if anyone has anything against it, well, they can take it up with the business end of my sword."

Fëanor laughed and leaned against Maedhros, even if it made his perch atop the horse very precarious.

"Soon, Nelyo. This whole charade will be over soon and then, we can defy our detractors as much as I know we all want to."

"I suppose that also means free rein for my little brothers to be sons of a bitch at their full potential, does it?" Maedhros replied tersely. "No offense," he cleared his throat and glanced at his father from the corner of his eye.

Fëanor chuckled some more and straightened himself.

"Will _you_ save their behinds if they become complete bastards? Um… no offense. Again," Maedhros could not help himself and his own lips quirked in a crooked grin.

"Oh, I think I will sit back and just laugh," Fëanor did precisely that, drawing the attention of both Caranthir and Maglor, who rode together some way ahead. "So long as I have all of you _bastards_ together in one place, safe and sound, you can be the biggest _sons of a bitch_ your little hearts desire."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Maedhros grumbled, averting his eyes and grinning sheepishly.

Feanor smiled and vaguely wondered what the exchange might have looked like to an outsider. One did not talk to one's father in such a way, especially since one's father was _Fëanor,_ of all people. But then, if anyone from Tirion and the time of the Trees could see him, they would hardly recognize him. And after three Ages in Mandos, even someone as obtuse about his flaws as he'd always been had to admit that the changes were all for the better.

With four of his sons grinning at him and picking up the banter, all he had to do was find the other three. But long stretches of grassland and many more days of constant riding lay between them. And the more he thought about what might have happened to his sons and Thorin's company, the more Fëanor wanted to distract himself with shameless banter.

…

As they passed by the narrowest part of Mirkwood and cut across the East Bight, the Elves soon discovered that they had every reason to worry. With roughly a week of hard riding still ahead of them before reaching the ford and crossing the Running, Fëanor and his sons came across the first animal carcasses lying in the grass.

The earth was trampled northward as far as their eyes could see and even though the beaten grasses had straightened under swift summer showers, the passing of countless animals could still be easily noticed. The growing number of corpses, of course, was the clearest sign that something very strange had come to pass in those parts, perhaps no more than a week before.

At night, they camped without lighting fires and watched their horses closely, as wolves and jackals howled nearby and feasted on the remains of all manner of animals. To their astonishment, the Elves recognized even farm livestock among the fallen and trampled beasts. It made no sense at all, as they had not encountered any kind of settlement throughout their journey along the borders of Mirkwood. And yet, there the animals were, some dead but most having continued the northward stampede as though driven by some unknown force.

Fëanor began to fear that they had squandered too much time and urged his sons to push their horses as much as the beasts could bear. They had ridden at a far more sedate pace the first few days after Curufin's shoulder had been healed. All of them needed a respite and some time to heal after the brush with death in Dol Guldur and thus, they had not given chase while riding east with Gandalf still in their company.

The wizard had parted ways with them at the easternmost spur of the forest, saying that Fëanor was welcome to shoulder the responsibility of Thorin Oakenshield's quest if he so pleased. Fëanor took it to mean that the wizard would stay out of the affair, but knowing him as Gandlaf, the cunning wizard, rather than Olorin, the gentle advisor, gave the Elf reasons to believe that they would hear from Gandalf again before the adventure came to an end.

Fëanor wished he had the wizard to read him the riddle of the stampeding animals, though. In the back of his mind, he guessed that it had something to do with Sauron and the Nazgul and recent events in Dol Guldur. It was foolish to believe that Sauron would simply crawl into a hole for another age, disembodied though he was. A spirit so ancient and so potent would not flee without causing some mischief and the closer the Elves rode to where the Men-i-Naugrim issued from the forest, the greater their misgivings grew.

After they forded the Running, Caranthir found the first fire pit and guessed that Thorin's companions and his brothers had spent the night there. But it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since then and there were no tracks to be read. The stampede had trampled everything and left only an endless trail of half eaten animals to be followed.

That they did, and soon discovered more traces of camp-sites. In one of them, a spit and the antlers of a large buck had escaped intact near the pit of what must have been an impressive fire. Fëanor surmised that one of his sons had made the kill and that must have been some time before the running animals caught up with them. He dearly hoped that it was not the case and that the company had not been overcome by the stampede, but a terrible emptiness in his stomach told Fëanor that something had gone amiss.

Almost a month since he had seen his sons and Thorin Oakenshield last, Fëanor came to learn that his worst fears were not unfounded. At the very edge of Mirkwood, he came upon a sinister sight. The ground there was practically littered with animal corpses and the smell was unbearable. Flies buzzed around the bloated cadavers and carrion birds cawed indignantly when the Elves scared them off. But the greatest horror awaited them beneath the trees, where the Elves found undeniable evidence that their kinsmen had been there and they had fallen prey to a premeditated ambush. Beyond the torn undergrowth and among the rotting carcasses, they found scattered bits of Dwarvish gear: one of Bombur's pans all bent and mangled; Bofur's hat trodden into a mire of moldy leaves and spider bold; Kili's little bow trampled to splinters.

Everywhere they looked under the canopy of those sinister trees, webs hung loose and a few spiders lay dead, leaving no doubt as to what had happened. Somehow, the stampede had pushed Thorin's company into the woods and there, a swarm of spiders had lain in ambush. It had all been coordinated in some way that went beyond Fëanor's comprehension and he marveled at the power of whatever evil had been afoot. But beyond that, he was paralyzed with fear for the well-being of his sons and he sat down heavily against a tree-trunk where he had found a patch of torn Elvish cloak. Celegorm and the twins were taken, Eru knew where and how long ago, and the dead animals had kept them from defending themselves.

Fëanor felt tears of anger and frustration well in his eyes and he would have screamed like a wounded animal if not for the dismay he saw in the faces of his other sons. They could not even think of letting fear and despair take over. They had to hold themselves together and follow the trail the spiders had left behind. Celegorm, Amrod and Amras were fine. They were alive and their father would find them and any other possibility was simply unacceptable.

Fëanor tried with all his might to tear himself from such desperate thoughts, when Maglor called out from beyond the line of trees.

"Atar! Atar, come out here! There are riders approaching!"

Fëanor ran to his son and once he was out in the sun again, he saw five horsemen pelting south toward them.

"They're not Elves," Maglor said, shielding his eyes with one palm and squinting at the approaching shapes.

"Men from Lake Town, most likely. Stand ready, but don't do anything untoward."

The leading rider waved when he saw them and kicked his horse into an even faster gallop. Within moments, all five of them thundered up to the Elves and brought their horses to a halt in a flurry of neighs and snorts. At a word from the one who appeared to be their captain, Fëanor saw the others shouldering their bows and sheathing whatever weapons they had drawn in preparation for an unpleasant encounter.

The captain in question hopped out of the saddle and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. He stepped closer to the Elves and bowed in greeting. Fëanor nodded briefly, taking in the man's appearance with a small frown. Whoever he was, the man had an unkempt and weather-worn look about him that struck Fëanor as odd for someone so young. The archer - for he carried a long bow and a quiver full of arrows – approached the Elves carefully and with a rather surprised look on his face.

"Peace, my Lords," he said. "We mean you no harm."

It was then that Fëanor realized his sons had all brandished their swords and readied themselves to fight off the archers if need be.

"Stand down," he said. "Let him come to us, he may know more about what has happened here."

Fëanor motioned the man to approach, scanning him for hidden weapons and finding that he was well stocked, under his shabby hunting garb.

"Who are you?" Curufin asked him.

"My name is Bard, my Lord," the man stopped and bowed politely. "I am a guard of Esgaroth, as are my companions. We have spotted you riding north and thought it best to seek you out before you enter these perilous woods."

"Well met, Bard of Lake Town," Fëanor greeted him, beckoning the man to come closer. He liked the raspy voice and the honest look on Bard's face. Beneath his coarse scruff, the archer seemed like a good man. Grim, but not unfriendly and Fëanor instinctively knew that he was not looking at an enemy.

The Elf gave his name and those of his sons, unsurprised when they sparked no sign of recognition in the man's eyes. But when he got to the most pressing and distressing matter, Bard had precious information to share. He told the Elves about how the guards had been alerted by a dust cloud that rolled north against the wind and some of them had ridden out to see what the matter was. Roughly two weeks before, they had spotted a party of Elves and Dwarves riding north and on their heels, the dust cloud rolled much faster, threatening to overcome them.

Unfortunately, Bard and his men had arrived to that very spot too late, after the unusual stampede had passed and only the carcasses they could all see remained. Inside the forest, they had found signs of a struggle and scattered goods that the Elves recognized as belonging to Thorin's company.

"We did not know who the travelers were," Bard said. "But we could tell how many they had been by the horses and ponies that ran aimlessly and without master. Seventeen ponies and three horses still lived when we arrived, although we had to put down one of the pack animals because of its injuries."

"They are three Elves, thirteen Dwarves and one little Hobbit, though I imagine you would not recognize one of the Shire folk if you saw him."

Bard shook his head, strands of dark hair falling into his face.

"And you say that you did not find any of them here?" Maedhros pointed to the trees behind him.

"No. There was nobody here when we arrived. Only dead animals and spider webs. It was fairly clear what had happened and we could all see the trail leading into the forest, but… none of my men would brave the evilness of this place or the spiders. We did not go forward, but rather, we gathered the ponies and whatever supplies and weapons we could find intact."

"Scavengers!" Caranthir growled. "Instead of giving aid, they flew here like carrion birds to pick the spot clean."

"I beg your pardon, my Lord, but that is not so. I will admit that it shames me, but we have not the skill to venture into this forest and only the bravest of our people have ever dared crossed its borders. I wish I could have done otherwise, but I was the only one willing to pursue the spiders and my companions held me back. We have not stolen anything. All the animals and the goods that we have recovered are in my care, waiting for their owners to come and retrieve them. You may do so yourselves, if you follow me back to our city," Bard said.

"We cannot come with you, although Esagroth was the planned destination both for ourselves and the company that we have lost. We will search this accursed forest and we will find them," Fëanor said. "Perhaps… There may be something you can do for us."

The archer bowed deeply in reply and Fëanor felt his intense scrutiny as they spoke.

"We have no use of our horses and much of our gear in the bowels of Mirkwood. If you would be so kind, bowman, you could take the animals with you to Lake Town and make sure they are taken care of until we arrive to reclaim them."

"I will, my Lord," Bard agreed, lowering his head in another respectful bow.

"Father! Are you just going to trust this rough stranger?!" Curufin protested.

"Yes. Yes I am," Fëanor replied, meeting the man's eyes and giving him a small smile. "It's better than to let the poor beasts roam wildly. Remember, we promised we would take good care of them."

"I will make sure that you find your animals in even better shape than you leave them. And… if you will, perhaps I can accompany you in your search?" Bard offered, solidifying the appreciation that Fëanor had instinctively felt for him.

"That is a kind offer, young man. But it will not be necessary," Fëanor smiled. Seeing to our animals will suffice. Thank you."

Bard nodded and motioned his men to dismount, in case the Elves needed any help sorting out their supplies.

"We travel light and with few supplies from here," Fëanor said. "Take only the bare necessities with you… And all your weapons."

But his sons needed no advice on the matter as each of them had fought countless times in his life and they were all anxious set off on the search as soon as possible. The trail was at least ten days old, by Bard's estimation, and gods knew what had happened to their brothers in the mean time. They could be anywhere inside the vast darkness of Mirkwood.

As he surrendered his belongings to the stern looking archer, Fëanor noticed the bow Bard carried. It had the same shape and very similar designs to the weapons Celegorm and the twins carried, although the man who bore it was not as tall and had shorter limbs to handle it.

"Your bow, Bard… Did you find it among the wreckage you encountered here?" Fëanor inquired.

"No, I have had it for years. It is a gift from a friend," Bard said, averting his eyes as though uneasy with what he had said.

"It is a good weapon. My sons wield similar ones, that is why I asked."

"I know, my Lord. We have found the shattered remains of three longbows," the man said, his voice hoarse and pained, if Fëanor's ears did not cheat him. "Are you certain that I cannot go with you?"

"Quite certain, I'm afraid. We will not stop for rest or food or anything else until we have found what we seek for. You are brave and you mean well, but you would not last long on the hunt and Mirkwood is no place for a young man to lose his life. Surely you have a wife and children waiting for you at home. Go back and we will find you there."

To Fëanor's further surprise, the man's eyes clouded over and he shook his head sadly. There was a tragic tale to uncover there, the Elf felt it, but he did not have the time to press for more information. Perhaps, when they finally reached Lake Town, he would seek Bard out and learn more about him, but Fëanor had greater worries for the time being.

The Elf started when he felt Bard's eyes studying him with disconcerting attention, while he went through his belongings.

"Is something the matter?" Fëanor turned to the man, curious but impatient at the same time.

"Forgive me, my Lord," Bard averted his eyes. "I do not mean to be rude. It's just… you remind me of someone."

"I do?"

"Well… in a way. No, not exactly. I do not know. But it matters not," Bard cast Fëanor an awkward glance, clearly regretting what he had just said.

Fëanor had the distinct feeling that it _did_ matter, but pressed as he was by both time and gnawing worry, he said nothing past thanking the men for their aid and wishing them a safe journey back to their homes. But as he took the first steps into the unfriendly twilight of Mirkwood, Fëanor wondered who Bard was and whether he had known Celegorm while his son had spent almost half a year in Esgaroth, a decade before. Celegorm himself would just have to tell the tale as soon as they found him alive and well. Any other possibility was simply unacceptable.


	16. Chapter 16

16.

Mirkwood was no safer and no less ominous even when traveling under the escort of two dozen Elven archers. On the contrary, Fili was filled with trepidation as the hours passed by and they trudged on under the heavy canopy, flanked by silent shadows on both sides. Thranduil's soldiers did not address the company, nor were the Dwarves bothered in the slightest way, but watchful eyes tracked their every movement and they did not have to be bound to know that their freedom was limited.

At the very least, prince Legolas had made good his promise to share the provisions his archers carried, although Fili believed that nothing save a three day feast would ever make his stomach feel full again. Little and bland though it was, the Elvish food put the company on their feet and even the weakest among them began to regain their strength. But for the sleeping Amrod and Kili, the Elves said there was nothing to be done, save to let them rest and wait for the enchantment to pass. It could be days before that happened and an unfortunate archer in Thranduil's service had slumbered for a whole week after drinking from such enchanted waters, or so Legolas himself had said. Other than acute disorientation and troubled dreams, the sleepers would be none the worse for wear… but of course, that depended on where they woke and what happened to their companions in the mean time.

While some of the archers built rudimentary biers for Amrod and Kili, Legolas and Thorin argued about what course to take next, with Celegorm and Fili attempting to keep trouble from escalating. The Elf had carried out his secret conversation with the Mirkwood prince and appeared pleased as they returned to the others. Celegorm would say nothing, but he offered Fili a reassuring smile. The young Dwarf did not know what to make of it, especially not when he saw that Amras did not seem at all reassured by whatever had come to pass between his older brother and the Mirkwood prince.

For his part, Thorin had no desire to follow Legolas and his archers to Thranduil's halls. _To put it mildly_, or so Fili thought with an inward smirk. It was very difficult for his uncle to accept their situation, especially when the Elves veiled their threatening posture so well and even the prince never outwardly said that he was taking them all prisoners. Legolas replied calmly and offered his suggestions in a polite manner, but beneath the posturing, it was obvious that he would not let the company go anywhere else but north, with him. He had been given certain instructions by his king and those he needed to obey without fault. But if he could make the manner of execution more bearable, Legolas would do so. He did not wish to cause the Dwarves further discomfort and to wound their pride even more by binding their hands and dragging them along forcefully. It depended on Thorin whether he would make things more difficult for himself or not.

The Dwarf King would have probably chosen the difficult path and he said as much too. Thorin would sooner be treated like a prisoner and warned Legolas that taking him to interrogation before his father would avail Thranduil not at all. The Dwarves had business of their own and none of it concerned the haughty Elven King. His son - less haughty but under strict orders – said that it was not his duty to decide and he would simply be escorting the company to his father's halls. From then on, the Elven King would decide what to do with his unwilling visitors.

It seemed to Fili that Legolas had far more interest in the news Celegorm had promised to share. Ancient enemies or not, the Mirkwood Elves would probably be very interested in hearing about the threat in Dol Guldur and what the wizards had taken Celegorm's kinsmen there for. Secretly, Fili hoped that such news would cast a favorable light on their plight and Thranduil would be too distracted by evil tidings of Dark Lords on his doorstep to concern himself much with the travels of Dwarves. If Thorin managed to stay calm and keep his hatred for the Elven King from erupting, perhaps the company could leave Thranduil's halls and get out of the accursed forest without a great deal of disturbance. Of course, it was a fool's hope more than anything else, but as he drew Celegorm aside for a few moments, Fili learned that the Elf thought more or less in the same manner and hoped that with some diplomacy, their situation could be bettered, in spite of the old enmity festering between all their peoples.

Unwilling guests, if not outward prisoners, the Dwarves had to endure two more days of marching through the dreary forest and Fili wondered how the Elves could survive in such a place. Elves were supposed to be creatures of light and fresh winds and freedom, not shadows skulking under ancient, oppressive trees! But, as they drew nearer to Thranduil's halls, the forest grew less evil and the air less stifling.

Although darkness had encroached upon Thranduil's territory and narrowed the extent of his dominion significantly (or so his son sadly admitted), a great stretch of Mirkwood still bore the signs of Elves inhabiting it and tending to the forest. Within hours of Thranduil's halls, the undergrowth gave way to healthy trees and clearly marked paths and little clearings where the grass was dotted with late summer flowers still in bloom. In one such clearing, while the evening sun still peeked over the western rim of the trees, the company laid themselves down and simply enjoyed the warmth they had almost forgotten. Thranduil's archers helped them set Kili and Amrod down in the sunniest spot and Fili thought he saw some of the silent Elves smiling at the sheer joy that fresh air brought to the company.

Legolas said that they would camp early and spend the night in that place, taking into consideration the weariness of his charges (as the Elf referred to his prisoners and Fili noticed Thorin's brows knit together in a very dark scowl at that). Nobody challenged the decision and from a cleverly hidden bower, the Elves brought forth more supplies. To Thorin's worry (and the delight of well nigh everyone else) Legolas offered them wine with the food. It was improper to refuse, but no doubt, Thorin worried that the drink would loosen tongues if they did not have a care to what they said and how much they drank.

Fortunately for his uncle, the Elves did not offer too much wine and none of his companions was in a chatty mood. Most of them were either injured and weary or weary and looking after an injured sibling. Before dusk deepened into a starlit sky that they were all beyond happy to see again, most of the Dwarves had nodded off and both Celegorm's brothers slept as well.

Flanking Kili and still very much disturbed by his motionless sleep, Fili and Thorin kept vigil a little while longer, although exhaustion and concern weighed heavily on their shoulders. Not far from them, Dwalin struggled to remain awake and alert as he sat propped against a thick tree stump. But the warrior fought a losing battle with his weariness and his surveillance served him little, as more archers had joined Legolas and his company and they fenced the clearing just behind the line of trees in a permanently watchful guard.

Legolas himself sat aside with Celegorm and they carried out what seemed to Fili like an interminable conversation. If the prince was polite but wary when dealing with the rest of them, he appeared to have warmed up to Celegorm in an undeniable manner. As the blond told him things in a hushed voice and most likely in the High Tongue that the archers did not speak, Legolas followed Celegorm with fascination and eagerness to learn more. Fili was somewhat amused, watching his friend as he exerted his charm upon the prince, but the young Dwarf was also intrigued and more than a little worried.

As night fell and the soft murmur of Elvish voices carried on, Fili could not help expressing his concern, especially when he knew that Thorin's suspicions kept him awake as well.

"What do you suppose they keep talking about?" Fili whispered in Khuzdul, eying Celegorm and Legolas briefly.

Thorin's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, most likely to ask Fili if he had lost his mind to use the Dwarvish tongue among Elves. But his uncle sighed and shifted as close as Kili's body lying between them allowed it.

"I wish I knew. Whatever it is, I think it concerns us all and I asked that bastard to not negotiate without my knowing. But he's speaking to Thranduil's brat in such fashion that the other Elves can't pick out anything either," Thorin replied in a harsh whisper.

"That is some damned long negotiation... I can't help but wonder what Tyelkormo believes he can offer them in exchange for keeping us fed and how he purposes to win our freedom."

"If you ask me, I think your friend is trying to look after his own hide this time around," Thorin said with a dry little smile.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you not hear him say that the Mirkwood Elves are his enemies? The _Sindar _and _Silvan _Elves, to be more precise. Remember how our Elves wanted nothing to do with their people in the Golden Wood?"

Fili's eyebrows drew together and he gave his uncle a surprised look. Unless he had fallen asleep and was dreaming up the entire conversation, Thorin looked about ready to give him a lecture on Elves of all things. And his uncle's cryptic expression had Fili wondering just how much Thorin had concerned himself with Elves under the pretense of hating them all with a passion.

"I remember," the young Dwarf nodded. "But it's hard to believe that Elves are actual enemies. Rivals, perhaps, but genuine foes? I can't imagine it."

"You may see it with your own eyes soon enough. Tyelkormo and Ambarussa would not be so concerned by Thranduil's enmity unless it is a very real and very dangerous thing. And I believe I know the cause of it, too."

Fili bit the inside of his lip against observing how uncanny it was for Thorin to know such things, much less speak of them. But he nodded, eager to hear his uncle's theory.

"There is only one thing that could make bitter enemies out of Elves. And that is murder. Or rather, what they call _kinslaying_. I believe they hold no sin greater than for an Elf to take another Elf's life, even if they are reborn after a while. And if you recall, in Rivendell, our Elves admitted that they are kinslayers."

Fili barely held back a smile as he caught his uncle saying 'our Elves' more than once. It was amusing and surprising but it cast little light on their predicament with Thranduil's people.

"It's different for them than it is for us, Fili. We've fought our kind when some of them served the Enemy and we fought them for lesser reasons too. But for Elves, it's unforgivable to raise weapons against each other."

"But… it was an act of war, what Tyelkormo and his kinsmen did, wasn't it? They didn't even know exactly why they were fighting when they killed those other Elves for their ships," Fili lowered his voice further as he said such things.

"I don't know… I'm not so sure about that anymore. But listen… You are far more of a scholar than I have ever been and surely you remember your lessons in lore. You must know that beyond my personal feud with Thranduil, there is an ancient and far greater hatred between Elves and Dwarves. It goes all the way back to the First Age and although we have been allies in times of war and trade partners in times of peace, the Elves have not forgotten that grudge and neither have we."

"You speak of Doriath and the death of Thingol at the hands of our ancestors?" Fili frowned.

"Exactly. I see you remember your lessons," Thorin gave Fili a small smile. "Then it will make more sense to you why Thranduil treats our people so coldly even now. He was there when Doriath fell and his king was killed, although at the time, Thranduil was merely a boy by their standards. But Oropher, his father, served the King of Doriath. Elves, I have learned, have a very long memory and are even better than us Dwarves at holding grudges. Whether it is just or not, I cannot say. But our people claim that they were mistreated and repaid with insult for the work they did for the Elven King. Most of this I did not know until it was too late to for it to serve me in any way. I should have probably listened to all the times your great-grandfather told me that knowledge is power. Well, I have a lot of knowledge now and no power, it seems."

"For the time being," Fili smiled bravely. "But isn't it foolish and pointless of Thranduil to hate us now, when we obviously have nothing to do with what happened thousands of years ago?"

"Logic would say so, but Thranduil is not a very logic person. This I have learned from his peers, both in the Grey Havens and in Rivendell. You smile, nephew, and you wonder when I became such a lore master in Elvish matters. But do not forget that when we rebuilt our lives from scratch in the Blue Mountains, our prosperity depended first and foremost on trade with the Elves from the harbors. I had to curb my anger and deal with them and that's where I learned about the great differences between their peoples. Where do you think all the books that you've read came from?"

"I might have known…," Fili smirked to himself. "But what does that have to do with this situation? You tell me that Thranduil hates us for simply existing, let alone having done him harm or not. How does knowing that help?"

"It may yet. I do not know. And I wish that was all there is to it."

"There is more?!"

"I'm afraid so. You see, your friend over there," Thorin's eyes shifted to Celegorm for a moment. "He's done even greater harm to Thranduil and his people. Or so I believe."

"I don't understand. Weren't they all allies back in the First Age? All I know is that the Noldor fenced Beleriand against the Enemy for hundreds of years. They guarded Thingol's kingdom and everyone else. How is that a great harm?"

"It wouldn't be if that was all they've done. Even though it did not concern our people anymore, the kingdom of Doriath was re-established after Thingol's death and attacked once more. It was sacked a final time, by _Elves_."

"Fëanor's sons. Yes. I remember reading about that. Do you believe that… our Elves had something to do with that?" Fili's eyes widened.

"I'm sure of it. Why else would they be so unwilling to appear before Thranduil? They were probably there when the attack took place. Thranduil will probably remember them since he survived the ruin of that kingdom and he was among the refugees who left it," Thorin nodded slowly as he saw comprehension dawning in Fili's eyes.

"But that means... we've been lied to? Doriath was attacked for a Silmaril by the sons of Fëanor and their people. _Only _their people and none of the other Noldor."

"Exactly. That means our lovely friends are killers of their people not once, not twice but a grand total of three times, before their own demise."

"And they have been lying to us all this time," Fili clapped a hand over his mouth, shocked and unwilling to believe such a thing.

"Yes. They have constructed quite a lie for our benefit," Thorin agreed, but, to his nephew's astonishment, he did not seem as enraged by the idea as he should have been.

"Who the hell are they?" Fili hissed.

"Fëanorian followers, I suppose… The Elven villains of the First Age. Although I suspect they may actually be none other than _Fëanor and his sons_."

"WHAT?!"

"Shhhh! Calm yourself! And be quiet!" Thorin motioned a shell-shocked Fili to sit still.

"What in Mahal's name are you saying?!"

"It is only a guess at this point, but it would make sense, wouldn't it?" Thorin said, eerily calm and composed and Fili thought that he was most certainly dreaming up the entire conversation.

"Can't be… I mean… by that line of reasoning, he would be…," Fili blinked at Celegorm's back and couldn't quite bring himself to say it.

"Celegorm the Cruel?" Thorin offered, a small, sympathetic smile on his face.

"No. Absolutely not. Not the one with Luthien and the hound and the temper and wanting to kill everyone and… oh, no!" Fili sank on the grass at his sleeping brother's side and covered his face in both hands. "Can't be!" he kept muttering.

"Fili, for Mahal's sake, hold yourself together!" Thorin reached out and smacked Fili's shoulder. "Quit making such a spectacle of yourself or you will draw their attention."

"But… dammnit, uncle! Let them come here! In fact, I'm going to get the truth out of that lying bastard right now!" Fili meant to sit up and stomp all the way to Celegorm and beat the truth out of him.

"Sit down and don't you dare make a single move!" Thorin hissed, glowering darkly and effectively pinning Fili down.

"But I have to know!" Fili deflated and sighed deeply. "What is this madness?!"

"I'm not sure either. But it's madness that we have to keep to ourselves for now. It's neither the time nor the place to confront anyone and kick up a scandal about this."

"I don't understand… how are you so calm? How can you know all this and not be mad or murderous?!" Fili shook his head in disbelief.

"I don't _know_, Fili… I only have suspicions. And I meant to say nothing, but we are about to be trapped by that vile Thranduil and our Elves won't be able to help us at all this time. _We_ may have to get _them_ out of trouble. So I thought you ought to be warned about some things."

"Help them?! You still call them _our Elves_?! Even suspecting… everything we've just discussed?" Fili gaped at his unperturbed uncle.

"Yes, I do."

"I don't believe this! How long have you had these suspicions?"

"From the very beginning, Fili. You see, if Curufinwë really is none other than the legendary Fëanor himself… he underestimated us. He must have thought that if they give us their names in an ancient tongue we've never heard of and if they spin the truth with a little lie here and a little lie there, the foolish Dwarves won't know the difference. But I am neither foolish nor ignorant and I always knew there was more to it than what they told us. In fact, there have been times when all of them gave us clues as to who they really are. They've all but invited us to guess and I don't know why they do it, but I intend to find out," Thorin said.

"He's right there!" Fili pointed to Celegorm, still deep in conversation with the Mirkwood prince. "He's probably lying his head off right now. Come on, let us both confront him."

"No," Thorin shook his head. "Tyelkormo won't tell you anything, even if he wants to. Whatever they've decided on the matter, only their father can tell him and his brothers otherwise. And I want to hear the truth from Curufinwë. I thought he would come clean and explain himself. More than once, he seemed close to doing so, but something kept him from it."

"Why?! Why are they doing this, uncle? Why all the lies?" Fili fetched a deep sigh, his head spinning with confusion and more than a little bit of anger.

"I do not know. Perhaps it is guilt and shame for what they used to be. Perhaps they did not want us to judge them for their past deeds. It could be that all they want is to leave their past behind and be other people now that they have been given a second chance. Or maybe, they thought to minimize their own importance for fear that if we know the truth, we would be daunted. I mean… can you imagine walking and eating and sleeping and fighting side by side with such legendary figures? I can't really grasp it myself and I keep thinking it is a ridiculous supposition, but now… after meeting these Mirkwood Elves, I am almost convinced that my guess is correct."

Fili gawked at the way his uncle stared into the distance and his expression was one of fascination, not indignation and rage, as it should have been! For his part, Fili was disbelieving and revolted and wanted nothing more than to shout at Celegorm until his voice gave out. It didn't matter why they were doing it, lying was still lying and people did not build friendships based on false pretense and half-truths. Unless the friendships themselves were all lies and Fili ground his teeth in anger. He had _not_ been cheated into caring so much about a scheming, evil Elf!

"Fili! Calm yourself!" Thorin hissed in warning and the young Dwarf guessed that his face had become a mirror for his warring emotions.

"I can't just sit here and pretend I don't know anything," he shot back.

"You can and you will and remember, you _don't _know anything until we find out the whole truth. I can understand your anger, I have felt the same myself, but we don't have the luxury to harbor such feelings now. We must survive all the traps this damned forest has set for us first. When we are free and I see Curufinwë again, I will confront him," Thorin said.

"And then what?"

"Then… it all depends on the explanation. I am sure that the Elves have their reasons for obscuring the truth about themselves and to them, those reasons are good. In the mean time, try to remember everything they have done for us and don't hate them too much. They've gotten mauled and poisoned and cut and who knows what else for our sake. In the end, it might not even matter who they _were_ as much as who they _are_ now and what that means to us. Alright?"

Such a speech and delivered in such a manner by a person Fili had known all his life was beyond disconcerting. Thorin was not himself… it must have been some after-effect of the poisoning or some enchantment at work. The patient, reasonable and seemingly forgiving person before him couldn't possibly be Thorin Oakenshield, the proud and harsh Dwarf Lord Fili knew and loved. Something had happened to him between the Shire and Mirkwood, something that Fili couldn't even fathom.

As these thoughts raced through his head, Fili saw Celegorm rising from his spot by the Mirkwood prince and biding him a good night. Weariness and worry were plainly written on the Elf's face as he strode up to the two Dwarves. Fili averted his eyes, knowing that he could not conceal any of his emotions and it took all his self-control not to shrink away when Celegorm crouched at his side. Torn between screaming, punching the Elf and slapping his hand away from Kili's forehead, Fili bit into the knuckles of his left hand and let some of his blond mane fall into his face, to obscure it.

"How goes it with the prince?" Thorin whispered to the Elf.

"As well as it can go when trying to convince someone to betray their father. I wouldn't even think of doing that to mine, but who knows… I just wish I had more time with Legolas," Celegorm sighed. "We'll see. I should have some rest now. I have a feeling that tomorrow, I will be sorely tested."

Neither Dwarf said anything, because Fili was busy biting his lip bloody against a plethora of things and Thorin seemed to understand whatever the hell Celegorm was talking about. They both watched the Elf walk to his brothers and after inspecting Amrod, the blond laid himself down at his brother's side and threw an arm over him protectively.

For a few torturous moments, Fili sat up and peered into the deepening darkness at the three Elven brothers he had spent the better part of four months with and he had come to think of as friends. Maybe they _were_ his friends, but as the young Dwarf tried to wrap his mind around who they _could_ actually be, this head swam and felt like it had suddenly been stuffed with wool.

Thorin offered him a small smile and motioned him to lie down. Fili threw himself on the grass as though the strings holding him up had been severed and huddled up to Kili, unconsciously wrapping himself around his sleeping brother much like Celegorm had done with his.

* * *

**A/N: I hope that this is neither too far-fetcher nor too out of character for Thorin Oakenshield. But after strenuous negotiations with my Dwarf and Noldo muses, I have been conned into saving Fëanor the trouble of an explosive, angry reveal scene. Rather, Thorin will punish him with gentleness and understanding (and, of course, he guesses nothing about the Silmaril/Arkenstone). It might not be Thorin's habitual manner of handling things, but it will be far more effective than righteous anger against an Elf that is all pride and fight and stubbornness himself. **


	17. Chapter 17

17.

When Celegorm finally broke through the haziness of half-sleep and the maelstrom of thoughts racing through his mind, he saw that the entire camp bustled around him. In a heartbeat, the Elf sprang to his feet and shook himself to full awareness, wondering what had caused such a commotion among the Wood Elves. Archers were milling in and out of the clearing and even Legolas moved restlessly under the trees.

"They're looking for Bilbo," Amras told him.

"Huh?"

Celegorm took the flask his brother offered and drank deeply, wondering how long before the taste of water would cease to be so heavenly. Celegorm crouched at Amrod's side and checked whether anything was different about his slumber, but Amrod slept motionless still, his brow smooth and his breathing even.

"You were saying about Bilbo?" Celegorm turned to his youngest brother.

"He's gone. He vanished sometime in the night and now the archers are all in a spot of bother. "

"Bilbo vanished, eh? Clever bastard," Celegorm smiled thinly. "I actually meant to ask him for that magic ring of his. Would have been a very useful thing to have where we're going. But it looks like he beat me to it and slipped off. Smart little bugger…"

"Quite. But what do you suppose he can do? Elves are not big, dumb spiders and they'll comb the forest for him. Even if they don't find Bilbo, what can one little Hobbit do to help us now?"

"You never know. He's proven his worth against the spiders, I think he may surprise us yet. But shhh! Not another word about this. And hopefully, the Dwarves will know to keep their mouths shut too. What about his Highness?" Celegorm looked at the obviously ill-pleased Mirkwood prince.

"Seems pretty ticked-off. And with good reason, I don't think having a prisoner give your whole company the slip is such a flattering thing for these stealthy Wood Elves. He'll want some kind of explanation from you," Amras said.

"Oh? But what could I possibly know? I've been asleep all this time. I didn't see or hear anything. In fact, I am shocked that our little friend has disappeared and goodness, what if he's in danger? What if a spider came and took him? Why, I can't stand the thought of that little Hobbit all alone in these terrible woods. I sure hope the Elves find him quickly," Celegorm replied in a high and affected voice that did not match his smirk at all.

"That's bloody good, Turko. And a minute after you woke up, no less" Amras poked him, returning the smirk. "Go. Work your magic."

"Mmm, just watch me," the blond sat up and patted his brother's shoulder. He walked over to the Mirkwood prince, ignoring the suspicious frowns and outward dirty looks that the archers treated him to.

Legolas was more than a little disgruntled by the Hobbit's disappearance and how such a thing could come to pass under the noses of his company, but Celegorm found it quite easy to convince the prince of his astonishment and worry. By the time he finished conveying his concern, Celegorm had Legolas promising him that they would find their friend and bring him back to the company safely.

Grinning inwardly, Celegorm could only hope that the sly little Hobbit would evade being snared and, at the very least, that he would convey the news of their captivity to Celegorm's father. To the Noldo's relief, he felt that his father and his brothers were not far and even though nothing logical could confirm it, Amras shared the feeling. Instinct told them that their kinsmen had all survived Dol Guldur and were riding north at full speed, the same way that Celegorm and the twins had known it when their family had been in great peril.

They would all be reunited before long, but if Thranduil insisted in meddling, things would undoubtedly take a dramatic turn. In fact, another kinslaying was not out of the question, if his father learned that the Woodland King mistreated his sons in the slightest of ways. Unless Celegorm found a way to avoid that confrontation, he did not put it past his kinsmen to storm Thranduil's halls. Of course, Bilbo's timely disappearance put the odds in the company's favor somewhat, but Celegorm was not foolish enough to count only on the Hobbit's cleverness. For the time being, however, there was not much he could do but cooperate and let Legolas escort them to his father's halls without much fuss.

But of course, the Dwarves had other ideas. When the frustrated archers turned to them, the scene promised to escalate into something very unpleasant. Legolas ordered the entire company searched and bound for the rest of the journey, to make sure that nobody else entertained any ideas of escape. They had been asked to surrender whatever weapons they still carried, but the Dwarves did not take being pawed by dirty Elves very kindly and more than one of them had to be forced into allowing it. Thorin glowered and had very harsh words to say about the incompetence and ill manners of Elves, which almost earned him a beating, had Legolas not been wise enough to stop his soldiers. Dwalin, of course, being louder and more brash and not Dwarf royalty, was not spared and he delivered a good few punches himself, before the Elves bound him with half the rope in their possession.

For their part, Celegorm and Amras endured the search quietly and were robbed of the little daggers in their boots under the dirty glares of their captors. But neither would suffer the Wood Elves to paw their sleeping brother and how stupid could those Elves be to think that anyone would leave weapons on a person who was likely to hurt himself when he woke from such unnatural sleep?! In the end, Legolas himself performed a perfunctory search of the sleeping Elf before Amrod was secured back on the bier.

That scene repeated itself a few paces away, where Fili struggled to keep the archers away from his brother. But, to Celegorm's surprise, his little lion hissed and glowered and turned away when the Elf tried to intervene in his favor. Fili was bound just as tight as Dwalin had been and the Elves strung them all in single file, muttering about how much they looked forward to being relieved of such foul prisoners. Bilbo's disappearance had obviously dispatched the smallest traces of kindness on the Elves' behalf.

"I am sorry," Legolas approached Celegorm and took hold of his hands, motioning one of his archers to bind them.

"It is a shame that circumstances allow for so little courtesy, but I understand," Celegorm offered the prince a small smile and squeezed Legolas' wrist before the prince withdrew his hands. He was secretly pleased to see Legolas averting his eyes and appearing even more ashamed of what he had to do.

"I suppose you'll string us along after the Dwarves as well," Amras grumbled. He had shaken off the effects of spider-poison and could thankfully carry his own weight, but Celegorm was determined to watch him closely for any signs of fatigue.

"Of course not. I really am sorry, I did not wish to have you bound and forced along, but you must understand... Father will be very angry when he learns that we have lost a prisoner and how lax we have been in our watch over you," Legolas said.

"He'll not want you to bring the likes of us into his house otherwise but bound and kicked and thoroughly humiliated," Amras shrugged. "Go on, lead the way," he motioned Legolas with a grimace.

The prince shook his head and walked over to inspect the two biers, giving his archers brief instructions as he went.

"Hey, if you're thinking of playing Curufin's part in the good Elf, bad Elf routine, you'll need some more practice," Celegorm whispered, leaning closer to his brother and smirking. "You don't have half of Kurvo's sneering abilities."

"Shut your big mouth. I'm not playing at anything. I just hate these bastards and I know what's going to happen when we get to Thranduil's court."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Come now, even someone as frightfully blond as yourself can figure that one out. Thranduil will recognize Pityo and I. And even you, although I think he only saw you when you were already dead. He'll hiss and sputter and call us names and throw us in the dungeons and he'll also give our big secret away. Thorin will be furious and all the Dwarves will hate us, but they will hate Thranduil more and he will throw them in jail too. Everything we've worked so hard for will be ruined and father will kick our asses black and blue… after he's rescued us from rotting in some filthy prison, that is. So forgive me if I don't feel like playing the good Elf part and for not having much faith in whatever it is you think you're doing with the Mirkwood prince."

"When you put it that way…," Celegorm stepped back and shook his head slowly. "We're pretty much done for. But I'm not just going to resign myself to this fate. I'll figure something out. You'll see. Don't underestimate the power of my frightful blondness," Celegorm nudged his scowling brother, hoping that Amras would take some heart. For many reasons, their situation was dire, but moaning and wringing their hands would do them no good.

Alas… his little brother seemed to have acquired fortune-telling abilities in Mirkwood. Celegorm began to share his opinion as soon as he was escorted into Thranduil's throne hall and his eyes fell on the haughty king. After hours of continuous march and well into the afternoon, they had finally heard the sound of rushing waters and crossed the bridge arching over the Forest River. Many soldiers, heavily armed and with bows in hand guarded the bridge and the gates to Thranduil's halls. It all looked vaguely familiar to Celegorm, bringing back memories of Nargothrond, but on a much smaller and shabbier scale.

Once the gates snapped shut behind them and their eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, Celegorm's impression solidified even further. He plastered a suitably impressed look on his face as he studied the corridors and halls they passed through, but behind it, he sneered at the simple souls inhabiting that cave. Such rudimentary people, with no finesse and no artistry, barely earned the name of Elves. The heart of their kingdom was little more than a maze of natural caverns and dimly lit passages with only the most elementary signs of craftsmanship. How could an Elven king be so proud and act as mighty as Celegorm had heard Thranduil to be, when he inhabited an Eru-forsaken cave that was too dank in places and too drafty in others and dark and dreary and… Celegorm smiled pleasantly and nodded approvingly when Legolas caught his eye and seemed rather anxious. But he could not walk at Celegorm's side to seek his impressions, the prince needed to guide his string of disgruntled prisoners and present them to his father.

'_Nargothrond was a disorganized dump before Kurvo and I took over management of it, but this place… I could wither and die in this place before the week is out!'_ Celegorm groaned inwardly. He sought for his brother, but Amras watched over Amrod and muttered at the guards carrying him to have a damned care as they maneuvered the bier along the maze of narrow tunnels.

At length, when even Celegorm's keen sense of orientation had taken a beating, they emerged into a wide, high-vaulted and better lit hall. There, Celegorm finally saw some signs of artistry at work in the carving of pillars that supported the roof, making the hall appear like a beech-encircled clearing. Torches blazed along the walls and a great fire crackled in an enormous hearth in spite of how summer still lingered in the outside world. But deep under the hill, the cave was cold, and the ethereal creature sitting on the throne at the far end of the hall made it even more so.

Celegorm saw the king gracefully rising from his seat and taking in the group that advanced toward him with only the faintest narrowing of his eyes. The archers formed a tight circle around their prisoners, weapons at the ready and all eyes on the fuming Dwarves, as their king strode up to them. Celegorm's lips quirked into an involuntary smirk as he took in Thranduil's appearance and how he practically floated over the polished floor, in a swish of shimmering robes. His silver hair hung loose beneath a crown of mithril branches and copper leaves, and from his exquisite features, his cold, blue eyes stood out the most.

'_What a glorious creature,'_ Celegorm mused, teeth clamping on the inside of his lip in his effort to keep a straight face. _'Gliding on the floor, each gesture studied and oozing superiority as he deigns to gaze at us lesser beings… How I would love to tear you down and break you, smug little king!'_ Celegorm smirked inwardly. But his less than savory thoughts were soon diverted to more pressing matters, as a deep and menacing growl erupted where Thorin stood bound in the middle of his company.

Thranduil stepped closer to inspect the prisoners and flinched visibly when he discovered Thorin among them, although no doubt, he must have been warned beforehand.

"Thorin Oakenshield, I never thought I would see you again in this part of the world," Thranduil said, earning himself nothing more than a grunt in reply. "And in such colorful company as well," the Elf added, eyes sweeping over the others with barely veiled contempt.

Thranduil recoiled and sucked in a sharp breath when he discovered Celegorm and Amras at the back of the group. Celegorm followed the king's astonished look and saw that Amras was staring him down with a sneer so alike their father's that he seemed almost a red-haired version Fëanor.

"You!" Thranduil shuddered. "So the evil rumors are true…"

A defiant smile spread over Amras' face, prompting the guards to raise their weapons and shift closer to him.

"What are you doing?!" Celegorm hissed and elbowed his brother. "You're not helping!"

"Ah, what is the point? Obviously, this little king recognizes us. Why spare him the joyful reunion?" Amras continued to grin coldly, his eyes never leaving Thranduil. "Yes, Thranduil, it is us, the _kinslayers_. We have returned and misfortune has forced us to visit your halls much sooner than planned," Amras bowed mockingly.

All Celegorm could do was groan inwardly and if his hands had not been so effectively bound, he would have covered his face. Way to see them all thrown in jail before a proper hello could be said…

"What are you doing here? Why do you trespass my woods?! How dare you enter my domain when you know that I would never allow the likes of you to pass?!" Thranduil's voice boomed through the hall and the torchlight seemed to flicker in answer.

"Your _domain_, Thranduil, is that of darkness and spiders and death!" Thorin retorted contemptuously.

One of the guards growled and made to correct Thorin for his outburst, but the others shifted to protect their king and from the midst of glaring Dwarves, Thorin stared the Woodland King down defiantly.

"What is your business here?" Thranduil glowered, turning his attention from his ancient foes to the more recent one. "Speak, Dwarf!"

Celegorm held his breath for Thorin's outburst and wondered whether Fili or Balin would intervene. But the young Dwarf frowned darkly and Balin seemed as filled with hatred for the Wood Elves as his companions were. Perhaps Celegorm himself should have said something, but his brother had instantly severed all attempts at diplomacy and all Celegorm could do was to stare at Legolas intently, hoping that the prince would meet his eyes.

"I have no business here, Elf!" Thorin growled in reply. "Certainly not in this filthy cave where your soldiers have dragged us like dogs on a leash. We fell prey to those charming pets you keep out in the woods, though I am afraid we've killed most of them. It was never my intention to come anywhere near your people, and we were on our way out of this accursed forest when your archers caught us. We were wounded and starving and defenseless when they came upon us, else I assure you, I would not be standing here, bound like a common criminal for your twisted pleasure."

With great effort, Celegorm held back an appreciative grin. Thorin Oakenshield was apparently very good at scathing rhetoric as well as fighting with weapons and for a good few moments, Thranduil gaped at him, searching for a proper reply.

"What right have you to take us prisoners and mistreat us?" the Dwarf carried on. "We've caused your people no harm and asked nothing of them, even though we were hard pressed to survive the journey through your forest."

"No harm?!" Thranduil finally snapped out of his momentary daze. "The whole of Mirkwood is alive with evil things pushing past our borders. We have not seen such disturbance in hundreds of years! Many of my archers have been wounded and killed trying to fight off spiders from invading our very homes and you tell me that there has been no harm done?! Or that you have not caused this disturbance yourselves?"

"Father…," Legolas tried to intervene, but Thranduil brushed him off with a violent sweep of his hand.

"Your coming here must be at the root of all this trouble, so I ask you again, WHAT IS YOUR BUSINESS HERE?"

"My business is my own!" Thorin shouted.

"You are in my halls and under my command here, Dwarf. You will tell me all I want to know or else the only thing you will ever scowl at is the inside of a dungeon. Why have you come here and what are you doing in the company of murderers?" the Elf king's eyes returned to Celegorm and Amras and plain hatred lit his otherwise impassive features.

"Murderers? You dare call someone else that?" Thorin growled.

"Do you not know who they are? Do you not know that you have taken up with traitors and liars and killers? You bring them here and you expect me to welcome it?!"

"Oh, but I _do_ know," Thorin shoved through his companions and stepped closer to Celegorm and Amras, in spite of the bonds that restricted them all. "I know everything I need to know about these Eves!" the Dwarf thundered, glaring back at the Woodland King and mirroring his contempt. "All those years ago, when you stood by and took your pleasure in watching my people perish, I was convinced that all Elves are foul and my enemies. But since then, I have learned that your kind are not all alike. Not all Elves are selfish cowards and _you_ are the only one who puts your people to shame," Thorin glared defiantly, planted firmly on his feet and looking seven feet tall by sheer force of his commanding presence. "You call these Elves liars and murderers but I will tell you this… they have fought and bled for me and shown me more loyalty than a would-be ally and friend has ever done it! If they are your enemies, Thranduil King," Thorin spat out the name. "That is all I need to know for them to have my undying friendship!"

A hush fell over the entire gathering and they all stared at Thorin Oakenshield with various degrees of astonishment. His kinsmen grinned proudly and even Amras had a pleased smile on his face, while around them, Thranduil's soldiers all but shook with anger at the barrage of insults directed at their king.

As for Thranduil himself, he sat very still and was likely not even breathing, but his eyes blazed in a lethal way that Celegorm did not like at all. Or, truthfully, he did like it quite a bit, but would have rather faced it with hands unbound and a weapon to defend himself with. Legolas approached his father hesitantly and touched his arm, opening his mouth to say something placating. That put Thranduil in furious motion and blood suddenly flowed back into his pale cheeks.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" he bellowed, yanking his son's sword out of its scabbard and pointing it toward Thorin. "Take them all to the dungeons! NOW! Remove this filthy rabble from my halls!"

Although he can't have been too pleased by the treatment his father had been subjected to, Legolas tried to tell him that two of the prisoners needed to be taken to the healers and watched over, not cast behind bars. But Thranduil would have none of it and wanted everyone gone, before he became more enraged and ordered a sound beating to be administered to them all.

Torn between arguing with the obviously mad king for the sake of his brothers and keeping his head down for the sake of whatever help he might secure later, Celegorm shifted from one foot to the other and struggled not to fight back as Thranduil's soldiers shoved at him. In the end, he said nothing but _thank you_ and _well done_ to an angry but also very satisfied Dwarf King. Thorin may have just made their situation a lot worse, but at least he'd had his say and had given Thranduil a piece of his mind that had probably festered inside him for more than a hundred years. However, a very disquieting question arose… Just what did Thorin mean when he said he knew enough about them? Had the Dwarf very timely dismissed a full reveal or was one actually unnecessary? Celegorm did not know and could not ask either. He had to file the concern away and suspected that he would have a lot of time to ruminate over such thoughts during the following days.

At their king's orders, Thranduil's soldiers yanked them away and pushed them along more dark corridors, taking a lot less care to guide them than they had on the way to the king's hall. Threats and insults flew back and forth and if the Dwarves hadn't been so neatly bound, there would have also been bloodshed. But one by one, the prisoners were pulled away and carried off down different corridors. Thranduil had ordered them separated and isolated from each other, knowing that it would be easier to break their spirit and have them talking that way.

As for the three Elves, the guards set Amrod down at a junction between several tunnels and there, they waited for further instructions. They did not speak to their prisoners and Celegorm was busy quietly upbraiding his little brother for his untimely outburst when Legolas caught up with them, looking quite distressed.

"That could not possibly have gone worse!" the prince cried out. "I thought you and your Dwarf friends would have enough sense not to enrage my father so."

"I thought so too, but it was foolish of us both to expect it," Celegorm shook his head. "I asked Thorin Oakenshield to keep his pride in check and try to avoid this exact situation, but he takes neither orders nor suggestions from anyone. He'd sooner rot in a dungeon than plead with your father for anything."

"That is precisely what you are all to do! Rot in our dungeons. I am to throw the three of you in the deepest and darkest pits that we save for the worst offenders," Legolas sighed, passing a hand over his face. "I had hoped that it could somehow be avoided. It is madness for Elves to treat other Elves in such manner."

"Your father does not seem very sane, to be honest with you," Amras said.

"Be quiet!" Legolas hushed him, casting the glowering guards around them wary looks. "Please, do not make your situation any worse than it already is."

"I don't see how that can happen," Amras grumbled.

"Shut up!" Celegorm hissed. "Hold your damned tongue, Telvo, or I'll have the guards untie me and whip you myself. Just shut the hell up!" he stared his brother down until Amras backed away and turned to the blissfully unconscious Amrod. "Legolas, please… I know you have a duty to perform and we will not fight it. But I must ask you for one small favor. If you can, please let my brothers be imprisoned together. If Pityo wakes alone, he will be disoriented and frightened and he may need help. He should not be locked up and abandoned in a dungeon with nobody to look after him. So, if you can, please do this for us."

Celegorm raised his bound hands in a further supplicating gesture, his eyes wounded and pleading enough to dispel whatever misgivings the price might have had. Legolas nodded and gave the guards some brisk orders, instructing them to take the twins to a larger cell and lock them up together. Amras protested no longer and merely thanked the prince when Legolas assured him that they would be given supplies and a healer's assistance if need for one arose.

The prince took it upon himself to escort Celegorm to his prison and allowed only one armed guard to accompany him.

"I am so sorry that it has come to this," Legolas apologized, his hand hesitant but warm when he took hold of Celegorm's arm and guided him deeper into the maze of his father's dwelling. "It is not how I envisioned I would welcome such legendary Elves into my home," he whispered with a self-deprecating smile.

"Well, our reputation still precedes us and perhaps, this_ is_ a proper welcome," Celegorm smiled, leaning slightly into the prince when they rounded a corner and started down a narrower tunnel.

"Nonsense! That is not true. I don't see what you have done to earn such treatment. You have certainly not wronged us in any way and if my father were not so heavily prejudiced, he would see it too. But he is enraged now and I am afraid that between Thorin Oakenshield and your brother, you have made him the angriest I have seen him in years. He will take days to cool and listen to reason. Until then, I can't do much but see to it that you are not further mistreated."

"I could not ask more of you. Thank you. And… now that I think of it better, perhaps you should try to keep Thorin's nephews together as well? They are inseparable even when healthy and well. I think it would break Fili's heart if he could not be there for his brother and if he does not know whether Kili is alright or not."

"I will see to it. We are not cruel and heartless people, Tyelkormo. I hope you will see this soon. I have faith that this can be resolved, but I must also ask you all to be more diplomatic. Father will have questions once his temper is subdued. My advice is to answer them truthfully and appeal to his reason, rather than wound his pride. I will help you in any way I can and once everything is cleared up, I am certain that father will have no grounds to keep you imprisoned," Legolas said. "We are here," he stopped before a windowless cavern barred with solid steel and shackles hanging from a hook in the far wall.

"Surely, you don't mean to…," Celegorm pointed to the chains and shackles.

"No, of course not! I'll have proper bedding and food sent to you in a moment. And again, I am really sorry," Legolas freed Celegorm's hands, blissfully unaware of how easy it would have been for Celegorm to grab him and smash his skull against the crude iron bars. Obviously, the prince did not see him as any kind of threat. On the contrary, Legolas could be an ally in that filthy place and a way out of there, if Celegorm played his cards right.

"Worry not, we shall be better acquainted under more fortunate circumstances, I am certain of it," Celegorm said, turning toward the prince after he had walked into his cell and the guard locked him in. "Please make sure that my brothers and my friends are not treated poorly. And thank you," he smiled gently.

Legolas shifted from one foot to the other, lowered his eyes, shook his head and muttered something to himself. Celegorm caught only 'absurdity' among the prince's words and his smile broadened. In spite of his run-down appearance and being locked up like some kind of exotic animal, he knew that he made a sight the Mirkwood prince was reluctant to be parted from.

"Come see me sometime?" he inquired sweetly and nearly held his hand out between the bars before mentally smacking himself. Enough was enough, overdoing it would only rouse the prince's suspicion.

"I will, yes," Legolas nodded. He took a step toward Celegorm, then thought better of it and tilted his head in farewell, repeating his promise that the whole situation would be resolved before long.

Celegorm watched him disappear down the dim corridor and drew back to inspect his new lodgings. Chuckling quietly, he propped himself against the wall and flicked the rusty shackles, wondering who on earth had been the last lucky person to wear such charming bracelets.

'_Well… this is quite a predicament we're in. From the jaws of foul beasts to the hands of even fouler ones masquerading as fair beasts. Now think, you idiot! Bilbo Baggins is out there, but the chances of him getting you out of here are practically non-existent. You'll have to use your head and get it done yourself. Think! What would Curufinwë do if he were in your place?"_

In spite of the predicament in question, Celegorm folded his arms across his chest and smirked broadly at the still and silent guard that watched him from the other side of the bars.


	18. Chapter 18

18.

Skulking through the network of rooms and tunnels and halls that made up Thranduil's abode quickly became the most uncomfortable thing Bilbo had been subjected to since he had set off on the great adventure. The Hobbit wondered morosely just how many times he had said that to himself, unknowing that the next twist and turn of the affair would be even more miserable than the ones before.

He couldn't possibly liken the home of Elves to Goblin Town or even the suffocating evil of Mirkwood, but loneliness and helplessness bit Bilbo even harder in a place where there was light and music and fair people milled about. Instead of seeking them out and appealing to their kindness, Bilbo had to slink about faster and more silent than a mouse and steal a loaf of bread here and a cup of wine there from the unsuspecting Elves. The poor Hobbit had to be constantly on the look-out, always careful to make no noise and avoid the light of torches unless the shadow he cast even when being invisible should give him away. He hid himself and always scurried to the darkest corners, speaking to himself within the confines of his own mind until with great horror, Bilbo realized he'd begun to resemble that loathsome Gollum creature he'd come across in more sinister tunnels.

Whatever madness had possessed Bilbo to run away before the Mirkwood Elves bound his friends and carried them off and whatever courage had driven him to pursue them quickly faded, once the gates snapped shut behind him and Bilbo found that he could not get out again. Some form of Elvish magic commanded those gates and if he risked following the archers as they stepped out on patrol, Bilbo could only do so by walking right among them and risking capture. If he was discovered and cast in prison as well, all his efforts and his lonely haunting through Thranduil's halls would be for nothing. He could not let that happen as long as he was the only hope of escape his friends had, however poor that hope may have been.

Living on the few things that Bilbo dared to steal without rousing too much suspicions and sleeping restlessly under the constant fear of being discovered, the Hobbit spent the longest days of his life getting lost in the maze of underground passages and hidden stairs until he had some idea where he was and found his imprisoned friends one after the other. Desperate for a kind word from someone, Bilbo wanted nothing more than to reveal himself, but while the watchful guards still lingered outside the dungeons, he did not risk it. The Hobbit had to contend himself with knowing that his friends were alive and on the mend, as the Elves may have held them captive, but they did not show them cruelty. They had food and drink and cots to sleep in and apart from growing restless with worry for the others and much pent up energy, the Dwarves did not seem much worse for wear.

As the third day of captivity wore on - if Bilbo's time keeping functioned correctly in a place with no sun and none of the landmarks the Hobbit was accustomed to - he saw that the guarding of Thranduil's prisoners had lessened. Where before, armed guards had constantly patrolled the passages each cell opened into, as time passed and the interest in the Woodland King's prisoners waned, so did the severity of the watch over them. In fact, if Bilbo had understood correctly, most of the Elves were drawn into the preparations for a great feast and even their king had set his righteous anger aside, in favor of a much more welcome preoccupation.

Bilbo rejoiced and seized his chance to approach his friends. He gave Fili a tremendous scare when he tried to draw the young Dwarf's attention and came very close to being caught by the returning guard, but eventually, Bilbo managed to pass along the encouraging news of his freedom. To Bilbo's relief, Kili had woken and although he seemed a little sluggish, the weight of the world had fallen from Fili's shoulders once he could speak to his brother again. Fili saw to it that Kili took sustenance enough for all the meals he had missed and even though both Dwarves grumbled about the bland food, Bilbo left them with a big smile on his face and sped off to find Thorin.

The angriest and most despondent of them all, Thorin could not quite believe his ears when the darkness spoke to him and it sounded very much like their brave little Hobbit. He should not have been so surprised, Bilbo grumbled to himself. After all, Thorin should have known by then that Bilbo would never abandon them to any fate. But he could not stay disgruntled when Thorin's face lit up and all the weariness fell from him as he learned that not only his nephews but all the others were well enough to complain about the boredom of captivity.

Of course, Thorin wanted to discuss possibilities of escape and to make plans for it, but Bilbo had found no other way out of Thranduil's halls but the main gates and that route did not lead to freedom. He promised the greatly revived Dwarf King that he would search every passage and every crevice until an alternative route presented itself. But inwardly, the Hobbit grumbled about how easy it was for Thorin to make such demands when all he had to do was walk back and forth along twelve feet of dark cell.

In addition to that, Thorin asked for news about their Elven friends and those Bilbo could not deliver as he had not come across the dungeons where the three were held. Being such high ranked prisoners, they must have been kept under much tighter security. But, thinking quickly on his feet, Bilbo followed one of the healers into what felt like the very heart of the ancient hill.

Fewer lights lit the narrow passages there and the air grew heavier and more humid. Bilbo heard the deep throb of some underground stream flowing not far beneath the floor under his feet and he was grateful for the way it muffled his footsteps. The healer led him past two guards that chatted to one another in a corner and paid little attention to the prisoners they were supposed to guard. By the flickering light of a single torch the Hobbit saw that Amrod and Amras had been locked up together and they also spoke to each other in hushed voices, lying back in their cots.

Amras rose and held out his hand between the bars, taking a long phial from the healer. The robed Elf passed on some instructions and both prisoners thanked him in what appeared to be a very civil exchange and nothing like what Thorin had recounted. In all honesty, Bilbo was surprised that the Woodland Elves had actually taken action against the Fëanorians and, ironically, it was done at completely the wrong time, for the completely wrong reasons.

But the Elves did not treat their captives poorly and especially not their own kind. Amras seemed entirely revived and Amrod had fully woken as well, grumbling good-naturedly under his brother's constant care much like Kili had jokingly poked his overbearing older brother. At such times, Bilbo felt a pang of longing for someone to care for him and envied the many pairs or groups of siblings in his company. The poor Hobbit was just _one_ of his kind and all alone in many respects, even in the middle of such a large and boisterous group. It was terribly lonely business sometimes and Bilbo yearned for his own home where he thought he would never again scowl at his many relatives coming to visit him unannounced.

Such thoughts, however, were poor company and brought Bilbo no closer to his more pressing goal. He had to find Celegorm and see whether the Elf's apparent friendship with Thranduil's son had been of any use to him. But no healer guided the Hobbit there and all he could do was stalk after several soldiers, almost losing his way more than once, as Bilbo dared not mark his passage through the tunnels in any way. At the end of a few desperate hours, while hunger and thirst almost got better of him, Bilbo finally crept around a corner and flattened himself against the wall just outside the circle of light two torches cast on the bars of an empty cell.

The cot inside had been used and a blanket lay crumpled on the floor. On a small, round table, Bilbo saw a pitcher and a goblet of exquisite make, such as a prisoner was unlikely to be given. But of the prisoner himself, there was no other trace and no guard kept watch in the torch-lit passage, although a wooden bench had been propped against the wall for precisely that purpose.

His stomach rumbled, pinched with hunger, and Bilbo despaired of what to do, as he had wasted so much time wandering through the maze of tunnels without sparing a thought to what he might eat. He wondered if there was some way to leave the Elf a message and muttered to himself about the foolishness of the idea. Even if he had stolen parchment and ink and some writing implements, what better way to leave the wary Elves a clue and jeopardize the whole plan?

Not that he had much of a plan, Bilbo rolled his eyes with an inward groan. Unless that plan was to try and recall which way he had come and just follow his nose toward the kitchens. He would come back to speak with Celegorm later and in all likelihood the Elf was enjoying a meal with his captors. Celegorm was not the type to sit idly and let himself be locked up for too long, not if Bilbo knew anything about the cunning Elf.

He was just about to turn on his heels and stalk away quietly, when the sound of footsteps approaching from the opposite direction had Bilbo back into hiding and holding his breath anxiously. A few moments later, three Elves stepped into the spot of light and Bilbo saw that two of them carried a third between them. Or rather, the third – who's hair hung wet and limp and obscured his face – was propped by two of the guards on either side of him and dragged his feet in a very unsteady gait. By his size alone, Bilbo could tell that it was Celegorm, even before the guards maneuvered him toward the cell and walked him inside without meeting any resistance.

A loose shirt covered the Elf's back and Bilbo squinted, leaning forward when he thought that the light-colored fabric sported several dark splotches. That can't have been blood… although the pained grunt that the prisoner issued when he was lowered onto the cot did not bode well at all. The guards laid Celegorm on his side and one of them picked up the blanket, shifting awkwardly and wondering whether to cover the ailing Elf. The other guard shrugged and they exchanged a very awkward look, retreating without a word. They slunk out of the cell and locked it quickly. Bilbo heard them whispering urgently and saw them shaking their heads, before one nudged the other to leave that place.

The back of his hand pressed over his mouth, Bilbo craned his neck as much as he could and stared at Celegorm's unmoving shape lying with his back to the Hobbit. Nothing happened for a few moments and then Bilbo heard Celegorm sucking in a ragged breath. The Elf shifted and propped himself on his elbows, grunting as he attempted to turn onto his other side. Bilbo's breath caught and he would surely have been found if any of the Wood Elves had lingered close by, when Celegorm gathered his wet hair back and the shocked Hobbit saw the bruises on the Elf's face. One side of Celegorm's mouth was swollen and the corner still bled, while on the other side, his eye had swelled shut in the middle of a very ugly-looking bruise. The cuffs of Celegorm's shirt were frayed and caked with blood and if all of that was not evidence of the terrible treatment the Elf had been put to, the sounds Celegorm issued as he tried to rearrange himself on the cot spoke for themselves.

Bilbo all but ran to the bars and called out to Celegorm, too shocked by what he saw to give his own safety much thought. Obviously, he had been wrong to believe that Thranduil's people would treat their own kind better and the Hobbit could not imagine what Celegorm had done to earn himself such a beating. He sprang from his hiding place and froze in his tracks a second later when another Elf materialized out of the shadows and gasped as his eyes fell on the prisoner.

Bilbo recognized the Mirkwood prince and scurried back against the wall, giving his own shadow a wide-eyed glare as it retreated with him and disappeared. He would surely have been caught, if Legolas had eyes for anything else but the miserable Elf on the other side of the bars. Groaning and muttering to himself, Legolas fumbled with a set of keys until he found the right one and unlocked the door. He leaped through the cell and crouched by the cot where Celegorm lay, squinting at the prince with his good eye.

Wringing his hands and covering his face in horror at what he saw, the prince spoke to Celegorm in a broken voice that sounded even more pained than the wounded Elf's replies. Bilbo could not understand a word of the exchange, but it was not difficult to tell that Legolas fretted in disbelief and Celegorm, although in obvious pain, tried to calm him. The attempt was not very successful as the prince sprang to his feet and turned to shout for someone, most likely a healer. Bilbo plastered himself against the wall at his back, but the prince did not get the chance to call out. Celegorm had risen unsteadily and caught his hand, shaking his head and pleading with him to be quiet.

With a shuddering sigh, Legolas turned to the prisoner and wrung his hands even more when the wounded Elf loomed over him and swayed unsteadily. The prince motioned Celegorm to sit down but Celegorm shook his head and more wet strands of hair fell into his face. Legolas covered his own face with both hands and issued a pained sob that Bilbo found both odd and unsettling. Stranger yet, it was his hurt prisoner that tried to comfort the prince, petting Legolas' hair and pulling him closer in a one-armed hug. Bilbo rubbed his eyes, wondering whether they were cheating him and he was not curled up in some dark corner, having strange dreams.

A moment later, Legolas drew back and shook his head, trying to calm himself, although even from where he stood, Bilbo could see his eyes were wet and wounded. A pained smile tugged the Elf's lips as Celegorm whispered something and let his hands fall at his sides. Very gently, the Mirkwood prince pealed off Celegorm's sodden shirt and collected his wet hair in a loose knot. Bilbo sucked in a sharp breath when he saw bruises and cuts all over Celegorm's upper body and the taller Elf could not hold back a deep groan when Legolas touched a dark bruise on his side. The skin of Celegorm's wrists was torn and bore the obvious marks of shackles.

Legolas gave a sudden shout of rage that startled both his seen and his unseen companions, when he picked up one of the abused hands and saw the extent of the damage. Again, Celegorm sought to calm the prince, tottering on unsteady legs and leaning against Legolas. For some reason, he refused to sit and Bilbo wondered at that, as it would have been much easier for the prince to tend to him that way. But, like a wounded horse that did not give up the fight and would only lie down when dead, Celegorm remained upright, while the smaller Woodland Elf picked up the silver pitcher and whetted a corner of the ruined shirt.

As gently as he could and whispering apologies as Celegorm flinched and grunted, Legolas cleaned the nastiest-looking cuts and applied salve to them from a small phial that he had brought with him. He would have need bandages as well, but Celegorm would not let him leave and Bilbo gathered that the wounded Elf did not wish for a healer, for some reason. Celegorm tried to smile as Legolas wiped the blood from his cheek and the result was a pitiful expression on his battered face. Again, Legolas shuddered and cursed violently, tossing the wet and bloody rag against the wall in a fit, but Celegorm caught his hands and held them together against his bruised chest.

It was the strangest thing Bilbo had ever witnessed and he wished he could understand what the Elves were saying to each other. Something had come to pass that angered the prince to no end and it was beyond absurd to see his battered prisoner being the one who gave comfort rather than sought it. Bilbo wondered what could have possibly prompted such treatment and whom it was that had put Celegorm to such torture. Judging by the prince's rage and obvious shame, Bilbo concluded that the beating must have been administered at his father's orders.

One last time, Legolas attempted to persuade Celegorm that he needed a healer, but the taller blond refused again. He wobbled back to the cot, limping heavily and lying down very gingerly. He motioned Legolas to pick up the blanket and the prince covered him with it. Bilbo could no longer see much of what was happening past the Wood Elf's frame, but Celegorm moved under the blanket and then a bundle of fabric fell to the floor. Legolas handed Celegorm the phial of healing balm and turned to face the bars.

In the flickering light, Bilbo saw the prince's features pulled into an expression of helpless rage that the Hobbit recoiled from. His jaw was clenched and his eyes blazed, before Legolas covered his face and his shoulders hunched, shaking with barely suppressed anger. Behind him, Celegorm grunted loudly and hissed in pain, drawing several shuddering breaths. His own heart beating faster in sympathy and disbelief, Bilbo honestly did not want to think about what further injuries the Elf hid under the blanket. And truly, no amount of bad blood from the past could earn anyone such rough treatment.

A few moments later, Celegorm sighed deeply and lay back on the cot, reaching out and touching the prince's hand. Legolas jumped and whirled toward him, sinking to his knees by the cot and lowering his head on the other Elf's shoulder. He seemed to be begging for forgiveness, if that was the meaning the broken words Bilbo heard. Celegorm petted him gently and whispered that he was well or other such nonsense that did not convince the prince one bit. It took Legolas a little while to regain his composure and Bilbo presumed that he had even shed some tears, which intrigued him even further.

Legolas sat up to retrieve the goblet and as he did so, Bilbo could finally make out the expression on Celegorm's face. The beaten down prisoner followed his captor with a soft smile and sympathy shone in the only eye he could keep open. As peculiar as all of it was, somehow, that expression in those exact circumstances seemed to belong right on that particular Elf's face. But what in the name of all things holy had happened to Celegorm?

Bilbo would come no closer to finding out more as long as Legolas lingered by his prisoner's side, helping Celegorm take a few sips from the goblet and then hovering nearby, likely asking whether there was anything else he could do. Celegorm shook his head and shifted on the cot, making a little bit of room for Legolas to sit on the edge of it. The prince did so immediately and allowed Celegorm to collect one of his hands between his abused ones. He murmured something to the prince that had Legolas nodding eagerly and brushing strands of hair out of Celegorm's face. The wounded Elf sighed deeply and closed his eyes, holding onto his captor's had and letting Legolas soothe him.

The mother of all strange things happened then, as Legolas began to sing softly, his hesitant voice barely rising above a whisper. The tips of his fingers never ceased to brush the other Elf's features, very gently and mindful of the ugly bruises, as the prince murmured a soothing chant. Celegorm was probably trying to sleep, his body taxed by whatever had happened to him and the strain of healing all the wounds Bilbo had seen. But why he kept one of the Elves who put him in such a dire situation by his side was a mystery that Bilbo could not unravel. And, as he watched the rather intimate scene before him, he thought that perhaps he was better off not understanding some things.

Still, he felt that it was important to know what had come to pass and what consequences it might have for the rest of the company. He needed to speak to the Elf, but with Legolas showing no signs of leaving, Bilbo thought he might have to wait a while longer. His stomach protested quite loudly, settling the matter in his place and making Bilbo retreat through the dark passages in search of a bite to eat. His head spun and he found it very hard to focus on keeping himself hidden as he wandered about, assaulted by questions he could not answer. He did not know what to do and how to help his friends and shuddered at the thought that Thranduil would have them all put to torture before long. It made the Hobbit that much more desperate to figure something out and help them escape before worse things befell them.

* * *

**A/N: All I can say in my defense is that: A) Celegorm has absolutely no sense of self-preservation when it comes to achieving his goals (much like his father). You need not victimize him too much as chances are, that is exactly what he is playing at. And B) I am very sorry for making Thranduil into such a bad guy, but the story needs one and unfortunately, his Royal Highness fits the bill for it.**


	19. Chapter 19

19.

The first day of autumn brought with it a great feast in Thranduil's halls and also, the best chance Bilbo had of executing his grand escape plan. The idea had presented itself as Bilbo scurried through the vast cellars of the Woodland King in search for something more consistent to eat than the scraps he stole from unsuspecting Elves. Hiding behind barrels of the most excellent-smelling wine, Bilbo had caught a conversation he could finally understand.

The butler of Thranduil's cellars (or so Bilbo presumed) carried an animated conversation with the captain of the guard and two men from Lake Town. They were discussing the upcoming feast and the amount of supplies required, making the butler shake his head at how depleted his stores would be. But the captain cajoled and secured a promise from his friend that some of the Dorwinion vintage would be saved for their personal delectation, while the royals partied in the upper halls. The men were also invited to the private feast, although by rights, they should have been many miles away and on the riverbank, waiting for a cargo of empty barrels to be released and floated all the way to Lake Town.

Before long, Bilbo had a fair idea how trade between the Woodland Elves and the Men of Esgaroth was done and with that, a plan began to hatch in his mind. He sneaked all the way to the lower end of the cellars and discovered the underground stream that gushed all the way to the Forest River. On the loading ramp, Bilbo saw a great number of barrels neatly stacked and ready to be released into the stream through a trap-door. Inspecting the barrels and knowing that their number would grow after the feast commenced, Bilbo decided that they were big enough to hold Dwarves in them. Even if the Dwarves in question would be extremely reluctant to go along with his idea, Bilbo could not think of any other escape alternative.

"_That_ is what you mean for us to do?" Thorin gaped when Bilbo whispered his plan to the Dwarf King. "You mean to have us dropping out of here like a bunch of drowned rats jumping off a sinking ship?"

"Yes," Bilbo grumbled. "_If_ the cellars are not watched and the guards will all be drunk. _If_ I can steal the keys from the captain. _If_ nobody catches me as I try to unlock you all and you'll be very visible, not to mention noisy," the Hobbit muttered. "_If_ I can get you all to fit in the barrels and secure lids on them so that you will not all drown. And _if_ you cooperate with me even the slightest bit," he glared at Thorin, forgetting that the Dwarf could not see him.

Thorin's jaw clenched for a moment but then, his brow smoothed and he let out a quiet chuckle.

"Forgive me, Bilbo Baggins, I should compliment you for finding a way out of this place and in such a short time as well. You have outdone yourself once more and truly, I am beginning to wonder if we'd have ever gotten this far without our fine burglar."

Bilbo fluffed himself up and grinned triumphantly but again, nobody could see him preening and his enthusiasm deflated immediately.

"I will come for you after the feast has started. Some hours from now on, when they are all happily drunk, if fortune favors us a little bit. I may reach you last, as this dungeon is set aside quite far from the others," Bilbo said.

"It is, eh? Well, if Thranduil thought that he would keep me isolated and let me succumb to despair, he did not take one clever Hobbit into consideration," Thorin smiled.

"Obviously," Bilbo mirrored the expression and then bid the Dwarf King farewell, hoping that once they were free, Thorin would not wish to wring his neck. He had no illusion that the escape inside barrels would be a fun ride for the Dwarves and in the back of his mind, Bilbo feared that such means of transport might be the death of them.

Before the day came to a close (in the outside world, at least), there was one more thing Bilbo needed to do. His grand plan of escape did not include the three Fëanorians and he needed to let them know about it, even if it was something the Hobbit dreaded greatly. As he picked his path through the tunnels, careful to avoid being run down by the busy Elves, Bilbo was once more grateful for his magic ring and for the fact that solid bars separated him from the imprisoned Elves. They would not take well to being left behind and a part of Bilbo felt quite remorseful, but he had been waiting for an opportunity to separate them from Thorin's company for a long time. Unexpectedly, the chance had presented itself.

He sought out Celegorm for the third time since the Elf had been brought back to his cell in a terrible state. Since then, Celegorm had recovered significantly but, when Bilbo finally caught him alone, he would not say a word about what had happened to him. Surprised that Bilbo had ventured into Thranduil's halls after them, Celegorm had been grateful for the good news about his brothers and the rest of the company. But he insisted that Bilbo should not breathe a word about what he had seen the previous night and especially about Celegorm's injuries.

_He was perfectly fine_, the Elf claimed. There was no reason to alarm the others and kick up a fuss over nothing. Strange as the request was, Bilbo decided to honor it, knowing that the prisoners had to stay as calm as possible under the circumstances, if only to avoid aggravating their hosts further.

In all likelihood, Celegorm would not remain calm after what Bilbo meant to tell him and the Hobbit knew precisely what a terrible idea it was to make enemies of those Elves. But, if he could keep Thorin away from them long enough, Bilbo meant to tell the Dwarf everything he knew and with that, he would be rid of the terrible guilt that had gnawed him for so long. Then, the Dwarves would at least be able to decide their own fate and defend their own, if ever they came into the possession of their treasure. And the Fëanorians – useful though they had been – would no longer be able to steal Thorin's greatest treasure while feigning friendship and lying to his face.

The Hobbit found Celegorm's cell unguarded as before and he suspected that Legolas had pulled rank in the matter, dismissing his father's guards and looking after the prisoner himself. But the prince was not there when Bilbo crept up to the bars and called out to the Elf.

Celegorm appeared to be sleeping, but as soon as he heard the familiar whisper, he roused himself and walked closer. He sat with his back propped to the cold wall, sipping from his goblet and staring into empty space, in case someone did come by.

"What is it, Bilbo? Do you have news from our friends? My brothers?" the Elf whispered from the corner of his mouth.

"Your brothers are well. Bored and asking after you, but much better treated than yourself," Bilbo replied.

"Good. Although, as you can see, I am quite alright," Celegorm took another sip of wine and sighed contentedly.

It must have been a really good vintage and Bilbo heard his own throat click as he swallowed.

"Do you want some?" Celegorm held out the goblet and smiled as he watched it move through thin air.

Bilbo returned the almost empty goblet with great reluctance as it contained the finest drink he had ever tasted, except perhaps for the Elvish miruvor he had been treated to in the past. But the wine was also extremely potent and Bilbo needed to keep a clear head that evening more than ever before.

"I am going to free the Dwarves and get them out of these halls tonight," the Hobbit finally plucked up the courage to tell Celegorm.

"You are?" the Elf started, turning toward the empty space where such a bold declaration had come from. "How?"

Casting furtive glances around himself, Bilbo leaned closer to the bars and whispered about the feast and the wine and the underground stream and the barrels, drawing a murmur of appreciation from the Elf.

"That is… a very dangerous plan. But quite brilliant too," Celegorm said, chin in his hand and nodding slowly. "With your astonishing luck, Bilbo, you might just pull it off. What do the others say?"

"Only Thorin knows and with the lack of a better idea, he can't do much but agree."

"He ought to just be thankful that he has such a talented burglar on his side. But Bilbo… I can't help noticing how you said you'll help _the Dwarves_ escape. _Only_ the Dwarves, I presume," Celegorm's eyes narrowed with the observation.

"Well… I didn't see any barrels big enough for you and your brothers to fit in," Bilbo stammered.

"Really…?" the Elf chuckled throatily. "I'll tell you what… I don't think you mean to set us free at all. Am I wrong?"

Although Celegorm could not see him, Bilbo still shivered under the icy look the Elf cast him.

"You… no. You are not wrong," the Hobbit cleared his throat and his voice rose above a whisper as he spoke. "I'm going to leave you right here."

"I might have known," Celegorm smirked, reacting the exact opposite way Bilbo had expected him to. "In fact, this does not surprise me one bit, Bilbo Baggins. But I am amazed by how recklessly brave you are to actually tell me this. And I would like to see your face as you do so."

Bilbo fidgeted uncertainly, before it occurred to him that the Elf wanted to make him visible so he could call out and draw some guards to capture Bilbo. He scurried further away from the bars, making sure that he was out of reach if Celegorm tried to grab him.

"I'm not stupid," he muttered.

"In some ways, you are. But in others, Bilbo, you're the smartest creature I've encountered in this diminished world. I am quite proud of you, you know?" Celegorm's smirk grew, although it was sharper and more dangerous than a blade. "You've always remained wary. You've played the friendship card as well, but your vigilance has never slept. Well done. But let me remind you, little Hobbit… I have been playing this game for much longer and much better than you. So, if you believe you are achieving something by taking Thorin Oakenshield away and leaving us behind, you are mistaken."

"I will tell him everything I know about you," Bilbo retorted before he could think better of it.

"Well… then you know what happens next, no? Remember what we told you in Rivendell. Things may have changed somewhat since then and we may have come to care about our Dwarven companions, but if you think that is enough to keep us from regaining our Silmaril _at any cost_, then you're not so clever after all," Celegorm hissed in reply.

"That is why you will stay locked in here and I hope Thranduil keeps you imprisoned for a long while. I was actually concerned for your well being when they brought you here in tatters, but obviously, no amount of abuse is enough to faze you."

Bilbo watched in amazement how Celegorm threw his head back and laughed. The sound was loud and ominous and Bilbo wished for something to throw at the Elf and silence him.

"You silly little thing," Celegorm sighed, amusement still obvious on his face. "What do you expect me to do? Beg you to help me escape? Swear I'll be good if you give me another chance? Promise you that I truly value my friendship with the Dwarves and that I would do nothing to hurt them? Please… I doubt anything would convince you, true or false."

"The only thing I believe is that you will still rob the Dwarves and you will keep lying to them if nobody tells them otherwise. Friendship is not based on manipulation and deceit and I mean to put an end to it," Bilbo declared bravely.

"Suit yourself," Celegorm smiled thinly. "Go, then. Free them. Warn them of the true peril they are in. It's all the same to me, but you might be surprised at the reception of your news. However, if you think I will not find you, you are gravely mistaken."

Bilbo took a deep breath and tried to steady himself, very much unprepared by the Elf's surety and his eerily calm demeanor.

"What? You've got nothing foolishly brave to say to me now? Good. I have only a few words for you and then I want you to be gone from here. Do what you must to free the Dwarves and take them to safety. I will even help with that, you may need a bigger diversion than Thranduil's feast. But listen to me and listen well… I am not stupid and I knew that whatever plans you would devise for the company would not include me and my brothers. Just so you know, I am not without my own plans and means of escape, Bilbo Baggins. If I am still in here it is because I am biding my time, nothing more," Celegorm smirked coldly. "If you succeed in your attempt, we will find you much sooner than you can imagine. And do not forget, my father is out there. He'll love to hear about this little mutiny of yours. And I will make sure to always remember it," the Elf said, staring at the empty wall ahead of him with a disconcertingly satisfied look on his face.

Bilbo did not know what to say and already, he felt his confidence shrinking under the obvious threat. Those Elves had thus far shown him no outward sign of aggression, but, after openly betraying them, Bilbo was no longer sure that they would not get rid of him. With Gandalf nowhere near to prevent it, even if Thorin Oakenshield wished to defend him, there were so many ways for a little Hobbit to disappear and Celegorm had said it himself, they had been playing the game for much longer. But there was nothing for it. It was too late to take anything back.

"Not so mouthy anymore, are you?" Celegorm sneered. "Well, you've had your say and I've had mine. Until we meet again, I suggest you think about the manner in which you would prefer to die. For the sake of our collaboration thus far, I will grant you that small favor. Now go!"

Bilbo was rooted to the spot and rose from his crouch with great effort. He opened and closed his mouth, at a complete loss for a parting shot. Had his ears cheated him, or did he just find himself at the end of a very real death threat?! Celegorm, however, did not give him any time to think about it. The Elf sprang to his feet and began to shout from the top of his lungs.

"GUARDS! GUARDS! GET OVER HERE, YOU FILTHY CAVE TROLLS!" Celegorm bellowed, making Bilbo jump and nearly topple over. "Run, you idiot! Didn't I say I'd give you a diversion? Get the hell out of here!" the Elf hissed. "WHERE ARE YOU, YOU USELESS BASTARDS?!" he shouted, picking up his goblet and rattling it against the bars.

The combination caused such a deafening racket that surely, someone would come to investigate. Without waiting for that to happen, Bilbo found his feet and ran off, casting one last glance at the imprisoned Elf. Celegorm was clearly enjoying himself, grinning broadly as he yelled all manner of unflattering things.

"TAKE ME TO YOUR GLORIOUS LEADER! I'M READY TO TELL THAT SNOT-NOSED BRAT EVERYTHING HE WANTS TO KNOW ABOUT THORIN OAKENSHIELD! AND HIS LOVELY SPIDER PETS! AND HIS DEAR NEIGHBOR THE NECROMANCER! AND MANY OTHER DELIGHTFUL THINGS THAT YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE SHITS WOULDN'T EVEN DREAM ABOUT!"

The tunnels seemed to amplify Celegorm's voice and it carried out very clearly, even if Bilbo ran as fast as he could, trying to put as much distance between himself and the insane Elf as possible. He flattened himself against the wall just in time to avoid being trampled by a group of soldiers rushing toward the dungeon to investigate the racket.

"GET OVER HERE ALREADY, IT'S NOT A PARTY UNTIL I'VE PUT ON A SHOW!" the Hobbit could still hear Celegorm as he drew further away and hopefully, in the direction of the cellars. He did not stop until his heavy breathing threatened to give him away and curled himself into a ball inside an opening that served the Elves as broom deposit. Trying not to sneeze and cough from the lack of proper air, Bilbo struggled to steady himself. He was beyond shaken by what he had just done and the ramifications of it threatened to wipe out whatever courage he had left. But the poor Hobbit did not have the luxury to despair when so many other lives depended on him. Later, when he was free and away from that accursed place, he would think of something to save his own skin. But until then, his priorities would have to be quite different.


	20. Chapter 20

20.

The sight that greeted the four riders as they hurried past the bend in the river had them bringing their mounts to a halt. Several barrels were scattered on the eastern bank - either with their lids off or completely smashed to pieces - and wet straw dotted the muddy shore. Beyond the swaying reeds, they could hear familiar voices and Celegorm spurred his horse into a run in that direction.

With him rode his brothers and Legolas of Mirkwood, on four of the few horses that Thranduil kept in his stables. The forest was no place for horses and the Woodland Elves had little need for them, save when urgent errands pressed them to travel swifter than their own legs could carry them. Legolas had commandeered four of the grey steeds without a word of explanation to their keepers and rode off with his father's prisoners before the first light of day shone on their escape.

Celegorm thought back on that and smiled to himself, wondering how surprised the whole drunk court would be by the time they woke from their stupor and noticed that their prisoners had given them the slip. No doubt, Thranduil would be livid and just picturing his face made Celegorm grin in satisfaction. But his amusement faded quickly when his horse brought him upon Thorin Oakenshield and his extremely miserable company.

The poor Dwarves were lying on the grass, some groaning and emptying their stomachs, some passed out with limbs askew. They were all wet and limp and pale as sheets where their faces could be made out under matted beards and hair. All in all, they made for a very pitiful sight and it was not hard for Celegorm to imagine the terrible time they had spent inside the barrels, tossed about by the strong current and suffocated inside their wooden prisons.

Dwalin staggered as he tried to pull Thorin to his feet and the proud Dwarf king groaned, pushing back the mop of dark hair from his face with a shaking hand. They both started badly when Celegorm's horse neighed, beating the ground with its hooves in fright, until the rider calmed it.

Arguably the liveliest of the group, Bilbo sprang from Bofur's side and turned to the Elf with a stunned look on his face. Behind Celegorm, his brothers and Legolas urged their horses to stop and Celegorm heard one of the twins wincing in sympathy. They had expected to find the Dwarves in poor state and they had not been wrong to worry.

"Oh, it's you…" Thorin sagged in relief and tottered precariously on very unsteady feet. Dwalin straightened him, although he was hardly better off himself.

"It only us, but… are you all alive?" Celegorm cast the unmoving Dwarves a worried look.

"I think so," Thorin nodded.

"Thank Eru!"

"We're just… very sick!" Thorin winced and struggled with his weakness, trying to steady his rolling stomach.

Celegorm dismounted and smiled broadly when his eyes fell on the stupefied Hobbit.

"Bilbo Baggins! You fine burglar, you've done it! But why are you so surprised? I said we would see each other very soon, did I not? Tell me, have you thought about what I told you yesterday?" Celegorm bared his teeth in the creepiest grin he could muster, hiding his immense amusement behind it.

Bilbo shrank in terror before him and instinctively clutched Dwalin's arm, making the warrior grunt in surprise. Not a sound made it past the brave Hobbit's lips and it seemed that his courage had finally taken a nosedive. That was well, as Celegorm felt his patience with the meddlesome little creature wearing extremely thin.

"Aye, Bilbo has freed us," Thorin groaned. "But I wish he'd found a less horrible way to do so. I never want to see a barrel again in my life."

"I am sorry," Celegorm turned toward the Dwarf and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"What about you? Bilbo did say that you had your own plans of escape and that is why you did not come down the river with us. But how did you secure horses and weapons and came after us so fast?" Thorin asked Celegorm, but he was looking at the silent Mirkwood prince and surely he guessed what his contribution had been.

"What about him?" Dwalin growled, giving Legolas a dark look and preparing to take him down with his bare hands if the Woodland Elf so much as blinked at them the wrong way.

"Don't worry, he's with us," Amrod said. "I mean… he is the one who helped us escape."

"But why is he here?!" Dwalin growled even louder, entirely unconvinced.

"Legolas is on our side," Celegorm walked to the prince and touched his shoulder, nodding and smiling gently.

Legolas untied a long scabbard from his side and stepped toward Thorin. Ignoring Dwalin's aggressive stance and how the Dwarf would rip him to shreds given half a chance, Legolas dropped to one knee, offering Thorin back his sword.

Thorin's eyes widened when he recognized the hilt and scabbard of Orcrist. His hand still shook slightly as he picked up the sword, even more amazed by what the Elf before him was saying.

"You have my apologies for the way my people have treated you, Thorin Oakenshield. I may not speak for my father, but I do so for myself when I say that I regret the harm we have done you and sincerely wish that things had unfolded otherwise. I am not here as your enemy, nor do I mean to recapture you. I have gone against my father's will in this matter, but I could no longer tolerate the injustice done to you and your company. Allow me to return to you your legendary sword along with my word that I will do everything I can to redress my father's mistakes."

"He's lying, Thorin!" Dwalin hissed, casting Legolas the same look he would have bestowed upon a pit full of vipers. "This is a trap!"

"It is not. Legolas speaks the truth. I vouch for him," Celegorm said.

"Really? Should that simply persuade us?" Dwalin insisted. "Isn't it convenient that on the night we escape, you hop on horseback and chase after us all fine and dandy? You're all in league, I know it!"

"Well, we _are_ in league," Celegorm smiled thinly. "And the escape _was_ coordinated, which is why we are all here now."

"Alright," Thorin replied as he strapped Orcrist back at his side. "But how _did_ you escape exactly?"

"Legolas set us free, as you can see. But before that, while Bilbo was unlocking all of you, I demanded to be taken before Thranduil and would not stop shouting until the guards called Legolas to quiet me. I was escorted to the king and found him fairly deep into his cups, but he deigned to hear me out and I gave him some of the information he sought to extract from us. I told him about the Necromancer and how the wizards purposed to rout him out with the help of my kinsmen. I presume they were successful and that would explain why the whole of Mirkwood is in such an upheaval. It explains why all the foul beasts have retreated north and are troubling your borders, Legolas. But don't glare so sharply, Thorin, I said nothing else and would not even mention your name even if they tried to pry it out of me forcefully."

Thorin said nothing, but his frown indicated that something still did not sit right with him. At that, Celegorm felt the all too familiar surge of impatience driving him to do something stupid and he forced himself to remain calm.

"I have to say, I made quite a spectacle of myself before the whole court and enraged Thranduil quite a bit. He ordered me back into the dungeon and put in shackles no less," Celegorm smiled ruefully and rubbed his wrists. "I suppose he wanted a bit of after-party fun at my expense, but he didn't get around to it. Legolas set me free and my brothers as well. Before that, he had ordered drinks for all the guards on duty and I am sorry to say this, my friend," Celegorm, patted the prince's shoulder. "But for a haughty king like your father to have such poor guards is unacceptable. Drunk though they were, we didn't run past more than a dozen of them and they didn't even notice that we weren't Woodland Elves merely dressed in their garb. So, it was fairly easy to make it to the stables, take the horses, pick up some weapons and here we are," Celegorm shrugged one shoulder.

"Very convenient for you, while _we_ almost drowned in those blasted barrels!" Dwalin thundered.

"Convenient?!" Celegorm hissed, anger washing over him before he could control it. "You cannot possibly imagine the price I have had to pay for my freedom!" he loomed over the warrior. With the corner of his eye, Celegorm saw Legolas lowering his head in shame, still kneeling before a frowning Thorin Oakenshield.

"Peace, Tyelkormo," Thorin touched his arm gently and Celegorm barely avoided snapping that hand clean off. "I see the fading bruises on your face now and I believe you. Calm yourself. And you, Dwalin, stand down," the Dwarf said, his voice gruff as he eyed Dwalin pointedly.

"He… uh… he speaks the truth," Bilbo said hesitantly. "I saw it myself. They beat him up and he was wounded quite badly a few days ago," the Hobbit added, to Celegorm's surprise.

"It does not matter now. The less we dwell on that, the better. We are free thanks to Bilbo's cleverness and the length Legolas has gone to for our sake. But shouldn't we see to the others and try to revive them a little? The faster we do that, the sooner we can put more distance between us and Thranduil. Once he sobers up, I doubt he'll just sit and do nothing. We will be pursued, if we are not already."

Thankfully, none of the infuriating Dwarves had anything to say against that and Celegorm stepped aside, picking Legolas up as he went. The four of them had brought some flasks of water and wine with them, guessing that they would be sorely needed. Gently trying to rouse the Dwarves, they passed the flasks around and even though Gloin gagged at the smell of wine and Bifur pushed the drink away with a cross-eyed look of disgust, they were all warmed up before long and their stomachs began to settle.

Celegorm found his own stomach churning with fresh worry when he tried to help Fili sit up and the young Dwarf shrank from him, muttering a dismissive _'I'm fine, I'm fine!'_ But he was not fine and the pasty look of his skin said as much. Worse than that, Fili would not even look Celegorm in the eye and busied himself with his brother almost immediately, making the Elf wonder what he had done to upset his friend. If he had more time to look into it, Celegorm would have insisted, but getting away from there as soon as the Dwarves could walk was far more important than some mysterious wrong he might or might not have committed to make Fili angry with him.

And then, of course, there was Legolas. The prince had done exactly what Celegorm had wanted him to, but it was foolishly optimistic for Celegorm to think that he would simply go home to his father if asked to do so. Still, Celegorm believed the least he could do was suggest it and maybe a small miracle would happen.

He walked over to the prince who stood beside the horses and watched the company uneasily after his help had been thoroughly refused. But nobody yelled at him or tried to attack him, which the prince probably took as a good omen. Celegorm guided him aside and at a safe distance, where not even Amrod and Amras could pick up their conversation, although both of them cast Celegorm questioning looks.

"Legolas… listen. I think you should go back now," Celegorm said in reply to the prince's uncertain expression. "I don't mean to sound like an ungrateful bastard and I promise you I will repay all the kindness you have shown me, but you do not want your father to catch us and still find you in our company. It will only enrage him further."

"No! I cannot go back to him!" Legolas shook his head vehemently. "It's not his wrath I fear, but my own if I should face him so soon. I cannot look my father in the eye after what he has done to you. I do not want to go back," the prince whispered, eying Celegorm intently.

The Noldo did not flinch under the scrutiny but gave Legolas a warm smile and stepped closer to him.

"I understand… and I am sorry that it has come to this. It pains me to know that you are so resentful of your father on my account," Celegorm lied without blinking and clasped the shorter Elf's shoulder in what was meant to be an apologetic squeeze.

Legolas merely shook his head, indicating that it was not the first time he had disagreed with his father. Even if the father in question was a miserable bastard, Celegorm couldn't quite fathom how Legolas could betray him so brazenly. _He_ would _never_ think of betraying his own father, even though Celegorm would sometimes yank Fëanor's sleeve out of sheer worry for him. But go against his word…? That was inconceivable and maybe Legolas deserved a little reward for doing the inconceivable against his own father.

"Alright. Stay with us, if you will. But Legolas, you must promise me something first."

The prince nodded in agreement before he knew what Celegorm meant to ask and that struck the Noldo as extremely endearing.

"Look, no matter what the others say to you, promise me that you will not let them know the real reason why you are so angry with your father. I have said nothing to the Hobbit even if he saw us in the dungeon that night. My brothers guess nothing and I would keep it that way," Celegorm leaned closer, whispering the words in the prince's ear. "It's absolutely essential that my kinsmen learn nothing of this and especially not my father. He will be furious enough to learn that I was mistreated without knowing the true extent of it. I am not asking you for the sake of my wounded pride but because I want to prevent worse things from happening. My father will want to kill yours if he finds out and he won't be the only one. So… this whole nasty business must stay between us. You will keep the secret for me, yes?"

Legolas sighed and shifted uncertainly.

"I couldn't possibly tell anyone. Not without dying of mortification first. But that is a crime which cannot go unpunished."

Celegorm barely held back a bark of delighted laughter at that.

"Aaah, you know what? _This_ settles my score with your father. You being here with me, I mean. I consider myself fully vindicated and would leave it at that, if you will," he drew back a fraction and offered Legolas a hopeful smile.

"I… I don't know," Legolas cleared his throat. "But I shall not speak of it again, not even to you," he promised, shifting uncomfortably and wringing his hands. Obviously, he wanted to embrace Celegorm but he was not bold enough to slip an arm around him, not with so many pairs of eyes watching them intently. He truly was endearing and might be worth having around after all, Celegorm told himself.

"Thank you. Thank you for everything, my prince," he lowered his head and brushed his forehead against the younger Elf's temple in an affectionate little gesture that probably stopped Legolas' heart for a moment. He cupped the prince's warm (and quickly reddening) cheek and tilted his head as though for a kiss, but of course, Celegorm could not do _that_.

"We have some work ahead of us, trying to convince the others that you are good and wonderful and trustworthy," he smiled affectionately instead.

"I… uh…," Legolas fidgeted, averting his eyes. "I'll go with you to Esgaroth and order our raftsmen to return home immediately. They won't know it's not the king calling them home. But I won't go with them, I am staying with you."

"Is that wise?" Celegorm inquired sweetly.

"Perhaps not, but if you keep me at your side, it could be useful later. If father musters an army and comes after you, I can be a good bargaining tool. You could use me as a prisoner," Legolas suggested and if there was not a playful glint in his eyes then Celegorm had suddenly gone blind.

"That's… clever thinking. It'll put me further in your debt, but I think I can live with that. However, would your father not be more determined to fight us if he knows we have you?"

"I do not know. Perhaps. Perhaps not… All I am certain of at this point is that I cannot go back. I wish to stay with you and know you better. I want to meet your other kinsmen when they reach Esgaroth. I want to see your father," Legolas said with a faraway little smile.

"Oooh, I can certainly understand that. You'll love my father," Celegorm chuckled softly. "And he will have nothing but the deepest appreciation for you once you've met and he learns how much you have helped us."

"You think so?" the younger Elf whispered eagerly.

"I'm certain of it. Now come on, they are staring holes in our backs over there," Celegorm pointed toward the bedraggled Dwarves. He slung his arm over the prince's shoulders very casually and squeezed Legolas against him. Celegorm was grinning triumphantly - both inside and out - as he guided the other Elf back to the company and met his brothers' gobsmacked looks.

Sure, he had paid for the conquest with blood and the humiliation would take a while to wear off, but he had taken Thranduil's son in payment for his father's sins. At the end of the day, Turkafinwë Fëanorion had come out the victor and he meant to enjoy his spoils as soon as the opportunity presented itself.


	21. Chapter 21

21.

"Thorin, I'm telling you, I don't like this at all," Dwalin hissed through clenched teeth as he leaned closer to his friend. The warrior's eyes were trained on the Mirkwood prince who walked at the front of their little convoy, with Celegorm at his side. "Why don't we at least bind his hands? He's bloody free to do whatever he wants and he's armed too! We can't watch him all the time. I still believe this is a trap!"

Thorin wished he could have said otherwise, but he harbored his own suspicions as the day grew and a bright sun warmed them, drying their sodden clothes. He disliked having Thranduil's son in their midst even more than he had ever wished to be rid of the other Elves, but he had too few arguments in the face of how helpful the prince had been.

Thanks to Legolas, they had horses to carry the weakest among them while they recovered from the nightmarish barrel ride. All four Elves had dismounted and helped Bombur, Oin, Ori and Balin atop the tall beasts, leading them by the reins and doing everything to assuage the misgivings of their dizzy and uncomfortable riders. Everyone else had to carry their weight on foot and there had been no time to cast off their wet clothes, which made the advance that much more difficult. Thorin had shed his matted fur coat and it lay draped on the back of an Elven steed, where it would hopefully dry rather than drag its owner down even further.

After nibbling on a little bit of waybread and some honey-biscuits that the Elves had offered, they'd picked themselves up and continued the journey east toward Lake Town, via a much more stable route than the accursed river. To the best of what Ambarussa and Celegorm could tell, no Woodland army rushed after them, but it would find a very clear trail if Thranduil _did_ send soldiers to retrieve his prisoners. With few weapons save those that the Elves wielded and Orcrist back in his possession, Thorin did not know how it would go if they were surrounded again, but he certainly did not mean to sell his freedom cheap. He would fight and he would not allow Thranduil's cronies to drag him back to the dungeons.

But the problem of Legolas remained and gave the Dwarves no peace as they put more miles between themselves and the prince's home. Dwalin was right, it was unthinkable to allow Thranduil's son weapons and freedom among them, even if he had shown them friendship. Perhaps the other Elves found it easier to forget that they too had been bound and dragged to before Thranduil by the same prince that had since turned into their savior. But Celegorm had sternly forbidden the smallest act of aggression against his new friend and Thorin suspected there was more to it than met the eye. Still, he could not argue, as Legolas had offered even further assistance.

The company meant to reach Lake Town as fast as they could, believing that they would be safer there and Thranduil would not risk an open conflict with the townspeople. Of course, given the history of prosperous trade and alliance between the Men of Esgaroth and the Woodland Elves, nothing guaranteed that the company would not be cast out as soon as demands for it were made. But Thorin hoped that the Men would also remember their old alliance with Erebor as well and recognize the line of Durin when it walked among them once more. He had only seen Lake Town once and he doubted that anyone still lived to recognize him personally, but as returning King Under the Mountain, Thorin believed he would wield enough authority to be treated kindly and provided with what he needed for the next leg of his journey. For that, Thranduil's son had offered his own purse as well as his influence with the Master of Lake Town.

_'A small compensation for depriving you of your freedom and the discomfort infringed upon you in my home,_' the prince had said when met with Thorin's scowling refusal. It was too good to be true and Dwalin had a valid point, Legolas could not have stopped being his father's son and an officer in his ranks overnight. Something was amiss and in spite of the overt friendliness, they needed to remain wary of the Woodland Elf.

_'Regardless of how much it looks like Tyelkormo has him wrapped around his little finger,'_ Thorin smirked to himself, watching the two fair-haired Elves as they chatted in their own tongue.

"This is no laughing matter," Dwalin elbowed him none-too-gently. "I don't trust any of them."

"I know, my friend," Thorin sighed, running his fingers through his mane of tangled hair." But for now, there is not much we can do except press on for Lake Town and keep our eyes open."

"I'll sleep better if that brat is bound and gagged... if I sleep at all," Dwalin retorted. "He ought to be treated as a prisoner no matter how much courtesy he shows us now. This is hardly the time to be gallant to our enemies."

"He may yet be useful," Thorin repeated what Celegorm had told him earlier, when the Dwarf had voiced his own misgivings.

...

That day came to a close in a red and glorious sunset that painted the western sky in a blanket of vivid colors. Within earshot, the Forest River tumbled carelessly toward the confluence with the Running where they both spilled into the Long Lake and only one ribbon of water emerged to wet the southern vastness of Rovanion. Frogs and crickets and all manner of other creatures sang a song of sleep that lulled the weary travelers, but they could not settle in the tall reeds like so many birds coming home to roost. Neither the river bank, nor the drying grasses offered much shelter and although the edge of the forest could still be clearly descried in the waning light, going back into Mirkwood was not an option. After the terrible experiences they had barely survived, not even the Elves wished to return to Mirkwood and Thorin himself thought that if he never heard about that accursed place again it would be too soon.

But another notable landmark had drawn the eyes of Thorin's companions throughout the day. Northward and looming closer with each mile they left behind their tired feet, the Dwarves saw their ultimate destination. The Lonely Mountain rose from the endless grasslands, piercing the horizon defiantly and stealing Thorin's breath away when he glimpsed upon it for the first time in longer than he cared to remember.

There it was... his long lost home, looking so serene and absolutely immovable under the passing of time and the cares of the world. The solitary peak and its five spurs that seemed to dig into the earth like so many fingers had also held Thorin's heart in their relentless grasp. He had finally returned to the home of his forefathers and for a moment, relief so potent filled the Dwarf that his head swam and it had nothing to do with being trapped in a rolling barrel. But wisdom prevailed over his instinct to simply run the distance to that beloved mountain and Thorin struggled to bring himself under control.

The others whispered and chatted excitedly, walking with heads turned not at their backs, where immediate danger lay, but toward the legendary Erebor. No amount of chiding and cautioning them to keep their mouths shut while Thranduil's son still walked with them prevailed and, in the end, Thorin decided it was best to refrain from dampening their spirits. Mahal knew, they had been dampened enough already. As for himself, the Dwarf King knew he could not afford to hope and day-dream and gaze longingly into the distance. He wrenched his eyes away from the mountain and willed himself to keep his thoughts from turning astray.

Long after nightfall, the company trudged on until even the strongest of them felt that they could not put one foot in front of the other anymore. They simply threw themselves down on the grass with assorted groans of exhaustion, while the four unwilling riders stood guard. Amrod and Amras offered to stalk back and shoot something for a very late dinner, but lighting a fire was unwise and Celegorm said they should be as quiet and invisible as possible, in case Elven scouts had been sent ahead to find them. Of course, even Thorin knew that staying hidden from the peerless trackers of Mirkwood was an exercise in futility, but he was too tired to argue with the Elf.

The Dwarf King went to retrieve his coat and intercepted the Mirkwood prince as Legolas was quietly tending to the horses. He would have walked them to the river for a drink if Amras had allowed it. But the taller Elf stood aside, arms crossed over his chest and surveying the prince with a frown that Thorin felt more than he could actually see. He was somewhat relieved to know that at least one of his Elven companions had not been swayed to trust the son of his enemy as much as his older brother seemed to.

With Celegorm having melted into the night for a quick inspection of their surroundings, Thorin decided to approach Legolas and speak to him. As the prince gave Thorin back his coat, the Dwarf bid him to step aside for a private word. Amras cleared his throat and Dwalin shifted restlessly, but Thorin motioned both of them to stand down. He wrapped himself in the coat and lowered himself on the grass, willing himself to keep his hands where Legolas could see them, rather than on any weapon, either visible or hidden.

The Woodland Elf did the same, crossing his legs as he sat in a position that he would have found it difficult to leap from. He rested his open palms on his knees and offered Thorin a veritable picture of peacefulness and good intentions. If Legolas had not been who he was and did not hail from a traitorous bunch of cowards, Thorin might have been tempted to take him at face value. But he knew that no amount of service and compensation could ever make him sympathize with Thranduil's spawn, even if Legolas appeared to be vastly different from his father.

The Dwarf fixed Legolas with an inscrutable look for long moments, aware that the Elf's eyes perceived everything better than his own. But Legolas did not flinch, nor did he shift under the scrutiny, merely waiting for Thorin to speak his mind.

"Tell me, Legolas Thranduillion, if I am to believe that you truly wish to aid us, why does the son of a king betray his father in favor of not one but two of his enemies?" Thorin said at last, his voice low and barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to drive the point across.

"I am a traitor in your eyes, then? And in many others, I suppose," Legolas sighed wearily. "I will not argue against it, though, for I have gone against my father's word and failed his trust. But your imprisonment was an act of gratuitous unkindness, although not entirely unwarranted by the way you lashed out against my Sire."

Thorin issued an impatient sound and more than one scathing reply bubbled on his lips.

"Nay, do not be angry, it is not my place to judge the rightness or error of your enmity against my people. As such, I did not meddle one way or the other in your incarceration or father's plans to extract information from you. Truthfully, I would not have set you free, but I _did_ know about the little Hobbit and his ingenious plan. As you can see, I have done nothing to hinder it and for that, I will suffer the repercussions. But my greatest displeasure came from the treatment your Elven companions have received at my father's orders. No Elf should ever be imprisoned and mistreated by another Elf, no matter who he is or used to be. Father does not know what he has done, not truly. He did not weigh the consequences of his actions but rather, he let passion rule over reason. But I trust that one day, he will understand that I have done what is best not only for myself, but also for our people," Legolas said, leaving Thorin to a long moment of surprised silence.

"For your people? You fear these Elves so much that you would do your utmost to garner their favor?" Thorin asked, guessing what Legolas hinted at.

"It is not fear. But knowing who they are makes it very unwise to try an keep three under lock while the other five can burst upon you at any given time and demand an explanation with their swords. I wish my father had seen that. But in his stead, I have acted as I deemed fit."

"Knowing who they are, hmm? I see your point, prince. But that does not stop you from actively seeking to endear yourself to the blond one. We have all seen it. Beyond whatever duty to your people you speak of, a much more personal reason drives you," Thorin said breezily, wishing he had more light to search the Elf's face by.

"What of it?" the prince suddenly hissed.

"What business of mine is it, you mean?" Thorin willed himself not to grow tense and reach for a weapon, even if the Elf before him grew enraged. "It _is_ my business, although I dearly wish it were not. But I am saddled with these Elves until the end of my journey and there is nothing more I can do about it at this point. They have proven themselves to me, but if you or Tyelkormo believe that I will allow a son of Thranduil to meddle in my affairs beyond this trek to Esgaroth, you are mistaken."

The Elf lowered his head and took his time before giving a reply. He was ill-pleased, but not surprised and his words proved it.

"I understand, Thorin Oakenshield. But you must also understand that whatever happens so close to our borders concerns me and my people as well. You mean to stir a beast that has lain dormant for decades. That will affect us all."

"I mean to _destroy_ the beast, if it still lives," Thorin shot back throatily.

"And I wish you all the good fortune in the world in your attempt. It would be well if we had a prosperous Dwarf kingdom beyond our borders, rather than a dragon. And if you succeed, _that_ concerns my people also."

"You say this because you wish to restore the alliance between your house and mine? Is that it?" Thorin tried to follow the prince's line of reasoning. He began to see that there was more to Thranduil's son than the smitten little Elf he let himself be perceived as. On the contrary, the prince showed thoughtfulness and diplomacy and ambition that made him a worthier adversary than his father.

"Perhaps," Legolas admitted. "If you survive to be King under the Mountain, perhaps, in time, the wrongs that turn our people against each other shall be redressed and we could deal with each other on friendlier terms. I know that seems inconceivable at this point and you may not find it in your heart to move past the grudge that you harbor against us, but with time and wisdom...," Legolas let the unspoken words float between them.

Thorin pressed his lips into a thin and tense line, arguing with himself against the wish to simply dismiss the prince. There would never be anything else but burning hatred between himself and the Woodland King and Legolas harbored no more than a fool's hope. However, his present situation did not allow Thorin to make even more enemies and he thought to bide his time until the company arrived safely to Esgaroth.

"At the very least, I would have no open enmity and war between my people and yours. If you do reclaim your kingdom, I do not forget that east of here dwell your fierce kinsmen in the Iron Hills," Legolas said, as though he could perceive the train of Thorin's thoughts. "To avoid conflict, I am willing to help you now and I have not lied when I offered my support in your dealings with the Men of Lake Town. Such as it is, you will have it."

"What of your father? Will he not send for you? Or come to retrieve you himself? Does that not make you a greater liability to me than your aid may be worth?"

"My father will come," Legolas admitted, his voice low and much harsher than before. "But he does not rule me in all my choices. He will not come with violence against the Men who have only ever been our friends and allies. He is not _that_ unwise. And before my people seek to retrieve me, I hope that _others_ arrive to Esgaroth. I would meet _them_ first."

"The rest of Tyelkormo's kinsmen, you mean?" Thorin smiled briefly, as he too wished for the same and hoped that his unwanted detour through Mirkwood had given the Elves time to journey north and catch up with them. "Tyelkormo's father, perhaps?" the Dwarf nodded in understanding.

"I would see him, yes," Legolas whispered.

"What of my father?" Celegorm materialized before them without so much as a hiss in the grasses.

"The prince here tells me that he wishes to meet your father," Thorin said, pleased that he had not even blinked at the Elf's sudden appearance. He'd gotten used to their unnerving stealth and no word ever being safe from their ears.

"I can't think of anyone who wouldn't," Legolas gazed at the other Elf with an open smile.

"To be honest, I too look forward to seeing your kinsmen again," the Dwarf added.

"Awww, you miss him, don't you?" Celegorm cocked his head to one side and grinned broadly.

"No, I miss poking fun at your father and watching him froth at the mouth as he tries to bite back scathing replies, that's what I miss," Thorin smirked in his beard.

"Well… it is rather amusing to see him let you get away with that," Celegorm chuckled. "Worry not, you will be reunited before long. Father and my brothers are near. I have no doubt that we will see each other in the upcoming days."

"You… sense them?" Legolas rose from his uncomfortable position and left Thorin to peer up at their faintly luminous faces.

"They are coming. I have no doubt about it. Whether from the south or from inside Mirkwood, I cannot tell," Celegorm answered. "What I can tell and it leaves me puzzled is the lack of pursuit on our trail. Think you that your father means not to follow? Perhaps he knows that we are not prisoners he would want to keep under lock for too long?"

"He will come," Legolas whispered, averting his eyes as though ashamed of it.

"Then we should rest and save our strength this night. Lake Town is still a day away and we start off at dawn. Perhaps sooner. Take first watch with me?" Celegorm asked Legolas, causing the prince to smile softly and agree immediately. "Oh… I've been meaning to say something while spying on your conversation, Thorin. If Legolas offers you the option of peace with Mirkwood, it would be wise to take it. Even Thranduil will see the wisdom of this and sue for fairer relations with your kingdom, when it knows glory far greater than ever before."

Thorin's eyebrows rose and he resisted the urge to groan. Had that big blockhead learned nothing of the bad blood that poisoned both Elves and Dwarves against each other in that part of the world? Still, Celegorm's confidence that Erebor would be a glorious Dwarf Kingdom once more put a small smile on the Dwarf's face. Surely, that one and the rest of the brood meant to involve themselves in his business even after the Mountain was reclaimed. Fëanor had dropped poorly veiled hints that he was interested in restoration work and if he really was who Thorin believed him to be, then the greatest craftsman of all Elfkind would certainly have work in Erebor.

Chuckling to himself and returning to his own kinsmen, Thorin couldn't help wondering exactly what he had done to find himself at the receiving end of so many Elvish offers for help. And especially how much he would end up having to pay for it.


	22. Chapter 22

22.

"This place is familiar to you?" Thorin asked the Elf at his side, as they dragged their feet along the gravelly pathway that led to the span of a great bridge.

"Quite familiar," Celegorm sighed and it seemed to Thorin that a wound had opened in the Elf's eyes, growing more visible as they drew nearer to the curious dwelling of Men.

Night had fallen hours before, but the company moved on, making good use of the Elvish horses and encouraged by the sight that greeted them once the expanse of the Long Lake came into view. Esgaroth seemed to float on a sea of twinkling lights as a gentle breeze undulated the water and beyond it, the lake stretched as far as the eye could see.

Colorful fireworks erupted as the travelers drew nearer, blotting out the stars in a myriad of shapes that chased each other and hissed through the air. Crackers exploded and cheerful shouts drifted with the fragrant smoke, making the weary company wish that the last few miles would fold upon themselves and bring them closer to the merry-making.

"They hold a feast, just like my people do. It is a three day celebration to welcome the ripening and harvest season. This will be the culminating evening," Legolas told them.

Hungry and tired as they all were, the prospect of food and drink and cheerful people boosted the morale and the eagerness to cross the long bridge and join their own appetites to the noisy crowds. But before that, they could all take in the view of a settlement unlike anything else they had ever encountered, save for the eldest among them and the Elves, of course.

Lake Town rose from the calm waters on countless wooden pillars that supported a rectangular structure large enough to host an entire bustling city. From the quays, many wooden ladders descended to the mooring places of a veritable flotilla. Vessels of all sizes - from rafts to fishing boats to longboats and even a few cutters with their sails neatly rolled up - were anchored and tethered to the quays. Light poured through the pillars from what Thorin remembered as a large opening at the very heart of the city. The feast was no doubt held in the Great Hall but it would have rapidly spread throughout the Market Pool, where fireworks still issued from time to time.

The city had been constructed entirely of wood, light and efficient, each building carefully drawn to fit the others in a geometric puzzle that left only narrow alleys between houses. Lacking room to expand horizontally, the Men of Lake town had made their dwellings high and narrow, with three and four stories topped by shingled roofs. A few towers spiked skyward, flying the colorful banners of merchants and the town's councilors.

There had been a time when the island city had known greater and more prosperous days, as the old pilings that poked from the water all around the quays attested. There had been fires and decay had eaten through the wooden structure, but even by night, Thorin and his companions could see that the town was well-kept and trade had ensured its inhabitants a comfortable life. On each side of the Forest River and further south, the land had been tilled and cultivated, but few of the townspeople lived in the small houses and huts that dotted the fields. On that evening of celebration, everyone attended the feast but a handful of guards stationed by the gates, and the company advanced unchallenged until they stood right before the guards hut.

Legolas went forward on his own, offering to present them to the guards. As the Woodland Elf had expected, the men greeted him with deep bows and kind words of welcome that quickly gave way to astonishment when Legolas introduced his companions. Wide-eyed at the mere notion of 'King under the Mountain', one of the guards hurried over the bridge to herald the arrival of such mighty guests.

Thorin straightened himself and watched his fellow Dwarves doing the same. Although they were all weary, travel-stained and weather-worn and with hardly a coin to their names, Thorin believed that his brave companions had never looked fairer and more imposing as they all meant to leave a lasting impression on the citizens of Lake Town. He would not let the fair Elves with their bright eyes capture all the attention, Thorin decided, although one of the men stationed outside the gates seemed to recognize Celegorm and greeted him with a surprised smile.

Stable boys gave chase from the barns and sheds built not far from the shore and they took the horses, eager to promise the Woodland prince that they would be treated royally. Then, the gates opened and across the bridge, guards in ceremonial attire welcomed their guests, offering to escort them to the Great Hall.

As they strode across the only means of access to the island-city, Thorin saw curiosity and, in some cases, apprehension in his companions' eyes. Bilbo seemed wary and afraid that the wood beneath his feet would give way. Ori gazed about himself in fascination, his fingers all but twitching to draw what he looked upon or scribble his first impressions. But alas, he had lost his instruments and the book he treasured more than anything else at the edge of Mirkwood, on the dreadful day when they had been ambushed and captured by spiders. Fili and Kili took in the town with childish awe, their eyes darting about as though they could not wait to explore the place. Oin's expression was one of reserve and calculation, as he undoubtedly weighed the monetary potential of the settlement and whispered his impression to his brother. Balin and Dwalin had been to Esgaroth before and had a fair idea what awaited before the inner gates, but for Bofur, Bombur and Bifur, the town must have resembled something they could have only imagined and carved out of wood as a child's play thing. Dori fretted (as he always did) and Thorin spared him a sympathetic glance, knowing that the good Dwarf's concern stemmed from the speculative look in his brother's eyes. For Nori, a drunken city in the middle of a feast offered opportunities that he would have trouble resisting.

Bringing up the rear of their procession, Amrod and Amras appeared as though they could not decide whether the town was interesting or unbelievably ugly and their brows drew together as they likely wondered how everything had been constructed with the rudimentary means of Men. Legolas walked by Thorin's side with the confidence of one accustomed to the place while at his right, Celegorm seemed the sheer antithesis of confident. Thorin's disquiet grew as he observed their supremely arrogant companion (as Kili had often called him) stride uncertainly, his eyes skipping restlessly from one guard to another and his jaw clenched.

Whatever bothered the usually immovable Elf seemed to grow exponentially as they stepped inside the city and were guided along the narrow streets. People of all ages came to see them and greet them with raucous cheers as the wondrous news of their arrival spread through the entire festive gathering. As men and women and children poured in, parting before them and then thronging after them, Thorin saw that Celegorm had become stiff with panic, scanning the crowd frantically and with such rapid eye-movements that he appeared to be gripped by a seizure. Intrigued, Thorin touched the Elf's arm gently and gasped as Celegorm all but jumped and glared at him in confusion. Quite confused himself, Thorin gave the Elf's arm a comforting squeeze and saw Celegorm attempting to calm himself. But, as they advanced, it was still plain to see that the Elf wished he were no bigger than Bilbo and not the tallest of them, standing out for the people to gawk at and to greet him by name, in some cases.

Thorin could do little but add the uncharacteristic behavior to the other mysteries his Elven friends would have to reveal sooner or later. It would be later, as they passed through a packed market and hoped that the inner quays would hold against the enthusiastic crowd. Shouts of "The King under the Mountain has returned!" and "All hail the Dwarf King!" and "The Heirs of Durin come to take the Mountain!" burst from many throats and were picked up with renewed vigor as the Dwarves strode by, puffing themselves up and smiling proudly.

Although he did not feel undeserving of such a favorable welcome, Thorin had seen too much doubt and mistrust elsewhere to let the praise go to his head. It pleased him greatly that the people of Lake Town greeted him as the stuff of legend, but as they rode the wave of enthusiasm to the doors of the Great Hall, Thorin also wondered if the frenzy was not induced by inebriation more than anything else. The crowds were probably excited by such unexpected guests and surely, they would soon turn into the greatest attraction the feast had to offer.

The great double-doors were parted and Thorin strode inside the Great Hall with the pride and confidence that lay deeply ingrained in the blood of his line. He took in the long table, arrayed with all manner of food and drink that made the Dwarf's stomach clench with hunger. But he squared his shoulders and his eyes swept over the colorful crowd of men seated at the table as they all rose to watch him curiously. Among them, a group of Woodland Elves scrambled to their feet, astonished to see their prince step inside as well.

"I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror King under the Mountain! I return!" Thorin cried in a thunderous voice and a hush fell over the entire assembly. Then, the crowd at their backs erupted in a loud cheer that seemed to shake the very foundation of the city and the leaders of Lake Town picked it up, welcoming the Dwarves into the hall and making room for them at the table.

…

Dawn was approaching rapidly, but the feast carried on and the men of Lake Town seemed to have a bottomless appetite for drink and revelry. Thorin felt his eyelids droop and his head began to swim with exhaustion and no small amount of ale. His kinsmen and companions were no better off, save perhaps Dwalin who ate and drank and showed no sign of ever tiring from it. Before long, the Dwarves would have to be carried to the lodgings that the Master of Lake Town had commanded to be prepared for his guests. A whole house for the honorable Dwarves, in the outer row and facing the fabled Lonely Mountain, the pudgy man had boasted and even though Thorin disliked the oily looks of him, he gave his thanks courteously and drank to the man's health.

Dressed in the Woodland garb but by no means welcome in the group of Woodland Elves, Celegorm and his brothers drank and laughed and seemed determined to uphold Noldorin pride in terms of stamina under inebriation. The twins had rosy cheeks that reminded Thorin of their dark-haired brother and even Celegorm's mood had lightened. Whatever had kept him on edge had been washed away by copious amounts of Dorwinion and it seemed to have loosened his charms as well, judging by the state of Thranduil's son at Celegorm's side.

"Where do you suppose that grump Bard is?" Thorin heard someone asking and he turned to the group of merchants and guards that crowded around a particularly self-satisfied looking young man. "Of course he couldn't be bothered to attend the feast, the stuck up captain. He had to go out on patrol this very night and what's worse, he took my brothers with him, too. As if anyone else needs to suffer from that man's depressive seriousness! I pity the fool, he'd want to know that his Elf came back," the young man declared flippantly.

"Hush! Hold your tongue! There he is right now," one of his companions elbowed him. "Have you conjured the old storm-crow or what?"

Thorin turned his head in the direction of the men's furtive glances. He saw a tall, grim-faced archer striding into the hall and his weather-beaten clothes gave him away in the throng of fancy clothes and peacock attire of his townspeople. The man still carried his weapons and a great longbow slung across his back, but what drew Thorin's attention above all else were the man's eyes. Wide and stark in a deathly-pale face that stood out even more under his uneven stubble, those eyes roamed over the crowd in a desperate attempt to find someone.

As though yanked back by invisible hands, the man stumbled to a halt and all strength seemed to bleed out of his limbs when he finally discovered the one he sought after. Thorin did not have to follow the bowman's raw and wild look to guess whom it was addressed to, but the clangor of cutlery and a shattering glass of wine drew his attention toward where Celegorm and his brothers sat. Or rather, Amrod and Amras sat, gaping at their brother as Celegorm threw his chair back and his own eyes were burning coals in a colorless face as he saw the man who stared at him.

As though a whip had snapped through the air above their heads, the conversations faltered and the two figures frozen in that dramatic stare-down quickly drew everyone's attention. To Thorin's surprise, Celegorm wavered and braced himself against his brother's shoulder, lowering his eyes and letting out a hissing sigh. But he snapped upright in the same beat and kicked the fallen chair out of the way, shoving carelessly past the people that blocked his way to the still and stunned figure by the doors.

Not even a whisper passed through the hall as the entire assembly held their breath in wonder. They watched the Elf stumbling to a halt before the captain of Esgaroth's guard and his tall frame was wracked by a shudder.

"Bard…?" they heard him croak uncertainly and Thorin wished he could see Celegorm's face. He had a fair idea of how bright his eyes blazed and he began to understand the Elf's trepidation upon returning to a town he had visited years before. He had obviously left unfinished business behind and that business stared him down, causing Celegorm far more distress than battle and bloodshed had ever brought him.

The man was entirely obscured from view, but when Celegorm whispered his name and raised a visibly shaking hand to try and touch his face, Bard flinched. His own hand shot up and caught the Elf's wrist, holding it so tight that his knuckles blanched. Celegorm shivered and his arm went limp in the man's vise-grip, but Bard released him and all but pushed the offending limb away. Without a word, the man spun on his heels and fled from the hall, his heavy footfalls echoing through the stunned silence. Bard left Thorin and his company to gape in wonder and worry at the crumbling Elf before them.

Celegorm seemed to shrink into himself and half-turned toward his brothers, his face an picture of aguish and self-loathing. Thorin had been right to believe that his eyes blazed, but not with such terrible pain as the Elf hid behind one badly shaking hand. Celegorm issued a faint cry and then wrenched himself in motion. He ran after Bard and they could hear him shouting after the man as he drew away, leaving Men and Elves and Dwarves and even one sleepy little Hobbit to gape and wonder what on earth they had just witnessed.

Thorin saw the Mirkwood prince rising from his seat, his face pinched with worry and confusion. Amrod and Amras sprang past Thorin and meant to pursue their troubled brother, but the Dwarf's hand shot out and caught one of them.

"No. Don't go after him," Thorin said gruffly.

"But… let me go!" the Elf struggled. "You saw him, he needs us!"

"Let him be," Thorin insisted, unsure exactly why he was doing it, but glad that his demand gave the brothers pause.

The two frowned at Thorin and then exchanged hard looks with one another, understanding slowly dawning in their eyes. In the end, they _did_ let their brother be and days passed before anyone saw Celegorm again.


	23. Chapter 23

23.

"They were bound and dragged from this place. Northward, toward Thranduil's abode," Caranthir said, scanning the ground for what signs remained of Thorin's company.

More than a week had passed since the Dwarves and his kinsmen had camped in that clearing, where they had been herded by Thranduil's archers. Neither forest floor nor trees bore any sign of the Woodland Elves' passing, but it was not hard to surmise what had befallen the Dwarves… and the Elves that traveled with them.

"Fettered and escorted as prisoners?" Fëanor ground his teeth, eyes narrowed as he peered through the trees on either side of them. They were deep in Silvan territory and no doubt, their presence had been espied, but nothing hindered their advance as they swept through Mirkwood in search of their kinsmen. "No more than I expected from these people," he spat the words and rose from his crouch in the fragrant grass.

Fëanor steeled himself against a fresh wave of exhausting anger and willed his frustration to abate. But it was so very difficult…

Fear and hope and anger and despair had raged in their hearts and clashed in draining thunderstorms as they tried to prepare themselves for what they might find and could not accept that the worst had come to pass. Fëanor knew that his sons had not perished, the grief of it would have felled him where he stood, but they had been taken so many days ago and he dared not even think what being kept alive by spiders for so long entailed.

He and his sons had scoured Mirkwood without cease, by bleak daylight and blinding darkness. They could not rest while the signs were still so clear to read and the fate of their kinsmen lay written in spider silk. Going ever deeper into the oppressive twilight of that forest, they came upon traces of another pursuit and guessed that two of their former companions had escaped capture. Bilbo's unshod feet and Dwarven boots had left prints that were still readable and the Elves concluded that the two of them had tried to find their companions as well. Although what could a little Hobbit and a young Dwarf (probably Ori, by the size and depth of the tracks he had left) do against a whole colony of spiders?

The sight that greeted them in the heart of the spider colony filled father and sons with immense relief and awe. The place was littered with decaying corpses and no living thing stirred. They doubted anything ever would, the defilement ran too deep there. Covering their mouths and noses against the unbearable stench, they searched among the black and oozing carcasses for any signs that would tell them what had come to pass. Between the five of them, they finally read the tale of how the prisoners had hung from tall branches, but had been cut free. Bilbo's daring rescue and the stone throwing he had felled so many spiders with could be guessed at, making the Elves shake their heads in wonder and agree that it had not been a bad idea to let the Hobbit live, after all.

The tracks leading out of that foul place showed that both Elves and Dwarves had been injured and weary, but alive, thank Eru! Fëanor saw that one of his sons had been carried by the others, his feet leaving halting prints on the moldy forest floor. His fists clenched and his heart ached with anxiousness and anger. Many times, he and the four sons he had kept at his side cursed the stupidity of letting Celegorm and the twins be parted from them. Not knowing whether they were still alive and then seeing evidence of their suffering at the mercy of Ungoliant's spawn was more than Fëanor thought he could take and he cried out his frustration so loud that the trees looming over him shivered. Perhaps the outburst would draw more fell beasts upon them, but so be it. They all hungered to kill and vent some of the terrible frustration gnawing them.

Further east, as evening fell and began to blot out what little light passed through the canopy, Maglor came upon the enchanted stream and even from the lip of the ravine it trickled through, they could smell the poison drifting through it. On the bank, there were signs of a struggle and the prints of many feet. One or more in the company had drunk the foul waters and had been enchanted. A blood-red strand of hair had been trampled in the haste to remove the fallen from that place. Amrod… he may have fallen into the stream or been pushed into it, as Fëanor doubted his son would not have sensed the waters were unclean.

With his mind's eye, he saw what had come to pass next, as though Caranthir's words painted the pictures before his eyes. They read the signs not yet blotted out by the fall of leaves and rain and the passage of time, learning that the company had rested among high pillars of beech, in all likelihood at a loss for what to do. They probably had no provisions, no weapons to hunt with and no edible game (Fëanor had seen it himself and knew that nothing in those tainted woods would be fit to eat). Wounded and weary and with more than one of them cast into the arms of unnatural sleep, what would they have done?

Unfortunately, choice had not been given to the despondent company for too long. With such uproar at his borders, Thranduil had sent his hunters to investigate and it must have been the easiest thing in the world to come upon a group of weary but no doubt still very noisy Dwarves. There were no signs of a fight to be read, but that did not mean the Dwarves had gone down easily or simply agreed to be escorted to the halls of their declared enemy. As the the five Noldor followed their trail closer to Thranduil's Halls, they began to debate what course to take and how to free the company, if Thranduil had indeed cast them in his dungeons. Perhaps strolling before the Woodland King and making demands of him, as Fëanor intended to, was not the best course of action. But even Maedhros had lost his patience and would have happily wrung the neck of anyone in his path if they kept him from his brothers.

"On your guard, all of you. Something is coming," Maglor warned, picking up his bow and nocking an arrow in a blur of movement.

Fëanor scanned the trees and their great, intertwined coronas, but nothing stirred there save for the chill morning breeze. It can't have been spiders, not a single living one had crossed their path and after the slaughter inflicted upon them, whatever remained of that evil spawn had probably retreated to the darkest places in the forest. But Thranduil's scouts had no doubt marked their coming and taken the news to their king. Archers were likely sent to welcome the Noldorin trespassers and they had finally decided to make themselves seen.

"We're surrounded," Maedhros said, pointing the tip of a Lothlorien arrow at the invisible targets.

Reaching out with senses sharper and deeper than sight or hearing, Fëanor felt them too, many shapes creeping in noiselessly.

"It was about time, I began to think nobody is guarding this wild little realm," Curufin muttered.

"Stand ready," Fëanor bid them and they drew closer together, their backs to each other in a small circle . The made an easy target in the middle of that clearing, with the sun beaming a bright spotlight on them. They would not be able to fire the Lorien longbows at the shadows lurking beneath the trees, but Fëanor knew that the Woodland Elves would not shoot them. They would try to disarm them and make prisoners of them, but unlike Thorin's company, he meant to put up a fight. And he would kill anyone who withheld his sons from him.

Strings taut and arrows poised, the five Elves waited tensely and felt many eyes on them as the circle of unseen pursuers closed around them.

"Lower your weapons!" a strong but unmistakeably Elven voice commanded.

"Show yourself!" Fëanor shouted in reply.

With no more than a whisper of wind through the trees, a whole company of archers stepped into the clearing as one, just as poised to shoot as the five Noldor they targeted.

"Put down your weapons!" their captain commanded and Fëanor could see him from the corner of his eye. A tall Elf, too broad to be Silvan and too grim in his scowling countenance for Fëanor's liking.

"Command your archers to do the same!" he retorted.

"Who are you and why do you trespass our King's lands?"

"Such courtesy you show to your own kindred..." Caranthir muttered darkly.

"I am Fëanor and these are my sons, Curufin, Caranthir, Maedhros and Maglor," Fëanor declared in a challenging tone, although the Sindarin names still rolled off his tongue like pebbles and he would never be able to associate them with his sons. "We search for Amrod, Amras and Celegorm, whom we believe you have taken. And we will NOT put down our weapons to be trussed up and carried to your king!" his voice boomed and swept as a shudder through the circle of archers.

"There is no need for that, I am here," a figure pushed past the line of Woodland Elves and although he bore the same attire as they, the Elf's bearing alone gave him away as one of high rank.

"Thranduil Oropherion," Fëanor said with a small, mocking smile. "What an honor," he tilted his head slightly and pointed his arrow at the Sinda's chest.

"The honor is entirely yours," Thranduil retorted, impassive in the face of threat. He bore no weapons save for the curved blade at his side and he advanced unperturbed, as though he purposed to make himself into a better target. "So, the rest of the _kinslayers_ finally arrive. Your sons have not lied in claiming so."

"Where are they?!" Fëanor snarled, rage blazing through him at the other Elf's flippant tone. "Where are my sons? What have you done with them?!"

"Lay down your arms and you shall join them presently," Thranduil replied smoothly, a faint smile on his alabaster features.

"Have you imprisoned them?! Speak, Sinda! Don't test my patience!" Fëanor growled.

"Atar...," Maedhros whispered.

"Hold your tongue, Nelyo! This is no time for diplomacy or courtesy! Can you not see the sneering look of that one?" Fëanor replied in the High Tongue, uncaring if anyone save his sons understood.

"I see it. Very well," Maedhros said gruffly and with a chilling edge to his voice.

"Surrender your weapons," Thranduil repeated his captain's command. "Then we may have a civil conversation and I will tell you about your kinsmen."

"You will speak now! You will tell me that my brothers are safe and well treated or I will kill you!" Maglor burst angrily, his own arrow pointed at the haughty king.

Thranduil flinched and his eyes widened as they fell on a figure he recalled from the distant and bloody past. All around the clearing, the archers prepared themselves to shoot.

"You would die before your arrow flies!" the captain barked in reply.

"Would we?" Fëanor spared the Elf a glance, surprised but not ill-pleased with Maglor's fierceness.

"I see you recognize my face, little king," Maglor carried on, his lovely voice thick with contempt. "The face of a kinslayer, yes," he ground out as Thranduil's countenance darkened further. "I know your face as well. I let you live in Doriath, whelp! Speak to me of my brothers or I will be more than pleased to remedy my mistake."

Fëanor could not bite back a smile even as he heard Maedhros' sharp intake of breath. His own wrath simmered beneath a thick layer of self-imposed calm, but Maglor's outburst cooled him somewhat.

"We are surrounded, yes. And we may be killed, but does any of you want to become a kinslayer?" he said smoothly, taking advantage of how rage had locked Thranduil's jaw. "Do you want to stain your hands with Elven blood unjustly and spend Ages of damnation for your crime beneath the merciless eyes of the Powers? And for what? We mean you no harm. We are searching for our kinsmen and our friends whom we have lost in the darkness of these foul woods. Does any of you wish to bring a curse upon your name only to stop a father from finding his sons?"

"We will not shoot to kill," the captain retorted as a shiver passed through the ranks of his archers and they whispered uncertainly among themselves.

"Oooh, but WE WILL shoot to kill and we will take many of you down before we are felled," Caranthir declared. "Do you wish to die today and by Lothlorien arrows, no less? Surely the Lady Galadriel has not gifted us with these bows herself to have us use them in defense against her Silvan friends and allies. But we will not let you take us alive!" he shouted the last words, eliciting another stirring of pride in his father.

"ENOUGH!" Thranduil bellowed. "Hold your tongues and cease threatening my people, accursed kinslayers!" he demanded, striding forward fearlessly.

"Perhaps your people should cease threatening us?" Fëanor offered, eyebrow raised at Thranduil's approach. He slid the arrow back in its quiver and shouldered his bow. Behind him, his sons fanned out and trained their arrows on the Mirkwood king. "I come in peace," Fëanor raised his open palms, but his smile was mocking and Thranduil seethed beneath it.

"Peace?! Peace was broken when you and your foul spawn were returned to soil these lands once more," the Sinda spat venomously.

"Father, please let me kill him!" Curufin growled.

"You need not dirty your hands," Fëanor replied breezily, too amused to take insult. "I care not for the impotent frothing at the mouth of a savage king. Come at me, Sinda. Give me your best shot."

A deeper darkness than that of wrath and disdain passed over Thranduil's face and his eyes narrowed further. Fëanor surmised that his sons had treated Thranduil to the same niceties and if he knew for sure that they'd been well enough to do so, he could bicker all the cold beauty before him wanted.

"I need not dirty myself either," Thranduil refused the bait.

"Good. It is unwise to engage in war of words with me. Or any kind of war, for that matter. We could be here for a very long time. So, what to do, My Lord?" Fëanor sketched a bow that served to infuriate Thranduil more.

"How to break the dead-lock? You won't take us alive and we will kill many of you before we die," Maglor said.

"But is that really necessary? I ask nothing more of you, king, but news of my sons. Do you have them? Are they well? Come now, give a father that much, at least," Fëanor honeyed his words, but beneath them, he swore that one day, Thranduil would answer for crossing him so brazenly.

"I do not have your goddamned sons!" Thranduil hissed.

"You do not?" Fëanor started. "But you would have me believe that to trap me."

"That was before you vowed to murder my people."

"_You_ first," Curufin said. "Before your archers turn me into a pin-cushion, I will put an arrow right between your eyes. So think on it, fair people. Is is worth losing your king over this?"

"He means it, does he not?" Thranduil tilted his head, eying Fëanor intently. "He would kill me."

"Without blinking," Fëanor nodded.

"Then you are come for more blood and murder! Curse you, curse you forever, and the folly of your jailors for setting you free!" Thranduil shouted.

"Father, please... this cannot be borne. I HAVE to kill him!" Curufin seethed, but Fëanor motioned him to be still.

"_My sons_, Thranduil. And we walk out of here without any trouble," he said to the enraged king. "You will not push your people into damning themselves and putting arrows in our backs. But you _will_ give me my sons."

"Your filthy get are gone from my halls! I do not have them. They have escaped!" the Sinda burst before he could catch himself.

"Escaped? Then... they are alive and unhurt?" Fëanor's shoulders sagged in relief, but at the same time, his vision clouded with anger against the fools who dared lay a hand on his sons. "You imprisoned them?! But they walked out alive and unscathed? Is that what you are saying?" he barked. Hand on the hilt of his sword, Fëanor advanced menacingly, looming over the Sinda before him.

"They were put in the dungeons along with the Dwarf rabble. But all are gone now. A creature of magic lurked in my halls and freed them unseen."

"Bilbo Baggins..." Fëanor could not bite back a bark of relieved laughter.

"What?"

"A creature of magic and excellent wit. So... you had our company in bonds but lost them. Am I to believe that?" Fëanor frowned a moment later, but he knew that nobody would make up such a creature to use it as an excuse for complete incompetence.

"Perhaps you would like to visit the dungeons and see for yourself?" Thranduil suggested, earning himself a smirk for the effort.

"Perhaps not," Fëanor grinned inwardly, unwillingly appreciative of the brazen Elf before him. Perhaps there was more to Thranduil than the hatred twisting his features into such and ugly scowl. "But how is it that one slippery little creature could fool countless guards and free sixteen people? How could they all flee unnoticed? What kind of kingdom do you run, Sinda?"

Twin splotches of red blossomed on Thranduil's cheeks and his eyes blazed.

"They had help!" he hissed between clenched teeth. "My own son!"

"Your son?"

"He has been deceived and ensnared and twisted into betraying me! Your devil offspring have taken Legolas with them!" Thranduil continued to dish out precious information and Fëanor barely refrained from patting his back, part in congratulations and part because it seemed that outrage would choke the Elf before long.

"Let me get this straight... Your son has taken both Elves and Dwarves out of your dungeons and gone with them? Why? Where?"

"No! I know not what madness has seized Legolas, but he went with your sons. The creature set Thorin Oakenshield free and put the Dwarves in barrels. They escaped downriver in my goddamned wine barrels!"

Fëanor threw his head back and laughed uproariously for a good long while. Even his sons behind him chuckled and exchanged unflattering remarks, but their aim did not waver, in case the enraged king dared strike their father.

"Oh, that is priceless," Fëanor wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "I can't have hoped for better or more hilarious news. Stand down," he beckoned his sons.

"But atar...," Maglor protested.

"We are in no danger, put away the bows and calm yourselves," Fëanor said, much calmer than he had been in days and pleased with how easy it had been to infuriate the Sinda into telling him everything he wanted to know. "Tyelkormo and Ambarussa are safe. They have gone to Lake Town, no doubt, that is where the river would have taken the Dwarves. And that is where we shall be off to, as soon as this rabble disperses," he gestured vaguely toward the archers.

Eying each other uncertainly, the four of them did as told, but they held themselves coiled to spring in case anyone dared harm them or their father.

"How can you be so sure he speaks the truth?" Maglor hissed.

"Who would make up such a thing? It makes the Woodland Elves look like proper fools and why would a king lie about his own son's betrayal? It is the truth," Fëanor said, offering Thranduil a taunting smile and showing him how little he cared for the dozens of arrows still pointed at them.

"Legolas has been bewitched," Thranduil said, his gruff voice full of contempt.

"Let me guess... was it Tyelkormo or one of my red-haired minxes?"

The flash of sheer hatred that lit Thranduil's eyes upon hearing Celegorm's name made Fëanor wish to put those eyes out with his bare hands. He promised himself that he would hear the full tale from his sons and he would personally dismember the Elf before him if a single hair on their bodies had been disturbed.

"I see how it must have happened. Probably Tyelkormo. You know your brother," he looked over his shoulder and met Curufin's knowing smile. "Kingdoms would fall for that one. Princes would betray their fathers... Ah, well. Thank you for the information, My Lord," Fëanor tilted his head in another would-be bow. "With your leave, we shall be on our way and out of this damned forest before the day is out. You need not escort us."

Half expecting Thranduil to give the order and have his archers either shoot or spring upon them, Fëanor readied himself as well. He would pounce and have a knife at the Elf's throat before any of his people could draw breath, let alone act upon his command. But the order did not come.

"Surely you do not believe I will simply let you walk away unchallenged," Thranduil seemed to recover some of his composure, although his cheeks still flared as he knew he had been duped.

"I do believe that. And I have not another moment to lose, tarrying here and exchanging barbs with you. I have not run like mad from Dol Guldur for weeks and scoured this evil place you call home to have an impudent little king bar my way now!"

Suddenly, Thranduil's expression changed and he too motioned his archers to stand down. Not unexpectedly, mentioning Dol Guldur sobered the Sinda better than a slap to the face.

"You have been to Dol Guldur?" Thranduil closed the distance that separated him from Fëanor and lowered his voice in indication that perhaps not all his people were meant to hear their exchange.

"We have. Else we might have fallen prey to spiders and then to your misguided people."

"What have you found there?" Thranduil asked. "Was the Necromancer...?"

"Have my sons said nothing to you about this?"

"Celegorm raved something about the Dark Lord, but I believed he lied to taunt me," Thranduil replied, uncertainty and apprehension in his eyes.

"He did not lie. Those wise and kind Istari I am sure you know well, Gandalf and Radagast... they have taken us into the very fortress of the one you know as Necromancer. But the evil masquerading under that name is none other than Sauron. We felt him. He was there. He fled before the combined forces of the wizards, we do not know where. East, into the wastes where his unclothed spirit may burn under the unforgiving sun. But he set three of the Úlairi upon us. My sons and I fought them and Curufinwe was wounded. If not for the wizards and Galadriel herself come to our aid, he may have suffered a terrible fate. So now do you understand why I have no time and no patience for this charade?" Fëanor finished angrily, staring down his shocked opponent.

"It was Sauron in Dol Guldur all along...?" Thranduil shuddered.

"Yes. And the wizards have guessed it a while ago. But I am sure nobody has bothered to inform you about it. Why do you think Mirkwood has become such a terrible place? Why are spiders lurking everywhere and encroaching your home?"

"These are grave matters," Thranduil said, his eyes staring through Fëanor as he tried to process what he had just heard. "I would know more. Why would the White Council say nothing to me? Why would they send the likes of you to fight off such a terrible enemy?"

"Why do you think?" Fëanor huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "We were not released from Mandos to twiddle our thumbs. And I believe we are expendable to your precious White Council. If we succeeded against Sauron... three cheers. If not... tough luck. Out of my way now, I truly do not have another minute to spare trading barbs with you, Thranduil."

"Wait," Thranduil barred his path when Fëanor made to walk past him. "You rouse evil in the south and then purpose to wake the dragon in Erebor as well and you expect me to simply let you do so?"

"Do NOT get in my way!" Fëanor snarled, feeling his patience unravel and genuinely surprised that it had held for so long.

"I will not, gods damn you!" Thranduil bit back. I know what it is to stand in the way of the House of Fëanor. But you will tell me everything that has come to pass in Dol Guldur. You will let me know why Thorin Oakenshield means to wake the dragon and why you of all people assist him!" Thranduil grabbed Fëanor's arm and squeezed hard, trying to drive his point across and utterly unaware how close he was to having his arm snapped in two. "Why do you aid Thorin Oakenshield? For the treasure?"

"What the hell else?" Fëanor spat, shaking himself free. "Order your archers to break ranks and let us leave. And if you do not find it too appalling to walk beside a kinslayer, see me out of this damned place and I will tell you everything you want to know. Including how to get your errant son back," he said over his shoulder, throwing Thranduil a challenging look.

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**A/N: After this chapter, updates may be less frequent. The muses have been fickle and, as the story draws to its most important part, I believe more care and more time should go into the writing. Thanks so much to all of your for reading and reviewing, for the favorites and the follows and for giving me such wonderful motivation to continue. **


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N 1: I would like to extend a great big hug and many thanks from the bottom of my heart to everyone reading and reviewing this ever growing story. My most faithful reviewers (you know who you are and how much you make me smile), half of this baby is yours as you've given me that extra push when the muses were acting out and being uncooperative.**

**Aria and Elennen, I am humbled and overjoyed by your kind words and so very happy to share the Fëanorian love with you. The Fëanorians are my favorite characters in ALL work of fiction I have ever read. They are both hard and easy to write, so complex and volatile that it never gets boring and in my opinion, the only out of character thing about them would be to portray them as cold and evil. Never, not in any works of mine. I am very happy I have not disappointed in transplanting them from doom and gloom into the (relatively) merry tale of The Hobbit.**

**A/N 2: Some time and some chapters ago, I said that this story will (hopefully) have no romantic entanglements. Well, that was before a certain blond of Fëanorian descent crept up to me, made puppy eyes and ruthlessly blackmailed me into changing my mind. Therefore, as you might have guessed from the previous chapters, we have a romance on our hands. It will not be pivotal to this story, nor will I dwell on it exceedingly until this tale is done, but this particular chapter IS all about Celegorm and Bard. As such, be warned that you will find matters pertaining to an M/M relationship below. Nothing overly graphic, but still. So, if any of that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this chapter, as it does not have any tremendous bearing upon the larger tale concerning Dwarves and their struggle to take back Erebor.**

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24.

Celegorm surfaced to awareness slowly, stretching languidly and issuing a low, drawn-out moan. His joints creaked and his muscles protested against the disturbance, as the Elf turned on his back. The blanket slid over his tender skin like the legs of a million ants dancing on his nerve-endings. He felt raw and over-sensitized and used in the most glorious of ways. But that brought back memories of cold, glittering eyes and vise-like fingers and for a moment, Celegorm believed himself still in the darkness of Thranduil's dungeons.

But he heard a bird calling out to its mate and he parted his eyelids slowly, to uncover a room that was neither dark, nor surveyed with speculative interest by some savage Woodland Elf. Celegorm lay in a patch of sunlight beaming through a high but narrow window and the room revealed no other occupant but himself. It was neat but sparse and unadorned, the habitation of a man with few needs but order and discipline and upon thinking of that, Celegorm smiled. He _beamed_ and raised himself against the headboard, heart so full of joy he thought he might scream. Every little ache his body chided him with only magnified the happiness and Celegorm laughed, exhilaration too great to be contained.

Why was he alone, though? Where had Bard slipped off to? And how had he not heard him leave? Granted, there were menial things such as food and drink and the man's duties to attend to, but those were trivial in light of being together. Bard had forgiven him and what on Earth could be more important than reasserting it?

With a small frown, Celegorm swung his legs over the side of the bed and laughed at himself when the room spun briefly. Perhaps he had been horizontal for too many days. Had actual days passed by? He didn't really need to know, though. If happiness meant losing track of time, so be it. And what was time to an Elf, anyway? No loss there.

But where was Bard? Not a sound drifted from the other room that served the man as kitchen and dining room and vestibule and all in all, Bard hadn't needed much space to dwell in. He was very rarely indoors and required neither comfort nor luxury, just a safe place to rest in from time to time.

Well, Celegorm thought with a wry grin, whatever Bard had deigned to furnish his unpretentious abode with had mostly been smashed days before, when he had set foot in the man's house. Bard had not been mindful in his anger or gentle in what came after and various parts of Celegorm still felt it. Ah, but what mattered the most had not faded, not one bit, in either of them and that... but where was the man and why hadn't he woken Celegorm before leaving? Was it because Bard knew he would not have been permitted to leave if so? The Elf smiled to himself, wrapping the blanket around his hips and padding over to the door that separated the two rooms.

His reflexes alone saved him from a smashed nose when Bard burst through the door in question, eyes wide and flushed with exertion, calling out his name.

"Oh, you're awake! Good. Get dressed!" the man said breathlessly. He had run from some place or other and his disheveled appearance gave whatever Celegorm might have said pause. His own heart sped and every muscle in his body readied itself to propel him toward Bard. He would pin him against the door and give into the hunger again, there was nothing for it.

Bard saw and his eyes widened, pupils blown black from the indescribable swirl of blues and greens and grays that formed the man's usually inscrutable gaze. But there was nothing inscrutable about him. Nothing that Celegorm could not read. Nothing that he did not want beyond the point of madness and loved in a way that had bested him and filled him with fear.

Bard flattened himself against the door and braced himself, momentarily rendered mute. But, in further proof of his remarkable strength, he tore his eyes away from temptation and managed to wring a few coherent words out of himself.

"Your father... He's here. They've come," Bard said, slumping against the coarse wood as the arc of desire between them snapped.

"What? When?" Celegorm shook himself, doused with a different kind of joy.

"This morning. Just now. The guards told me and I saw them crossing the bridge," Bard said, pushing himself away from the door and tottering slightly, his breath still coming out in puffs of exertion and something else entirely. "They will be shown to the house where Thorin Oakenshield is lodged. I knew you'd want to hear this news so I came back as fast as I could."

Celegorm pounced and crushed the man against him, hugging him so tight that all the air squeaked out of Bard. Issuing a cry of relief and delight himself, Celegorm brought their mouths together and through the rush, he wondered how he had endured a decade of drought. Or why, for that matter. Bard's whiskers tickled and he tasted of storm, not merely the sunshine of youth that Celegorm remembered, but he was still so very sweet.

_'Atar!'_ Celegorm remembered, when fire bloomed in the pit of his stomach and the man's hands on his skin threatened to banish all coherent thought from his mind.

"Were they well?" he whispered raggedly, pulling away just enough to form words.

"Huh?" Bard breathed, eyelids at half-mast and clinging to Celegorm's shoulders as a man lost at sea would. All the lines that time and sorrow had etched into his face seemed to have vanished and he reminded the Elf of the boy he had loved a decade before so keenly that something inside Celegorm twisted itself into knots.

But he could not dwell on that. No.

"Father and my brothers. How did they appear? Uninjured, I hope," Celegorm said, wrenching himself away, but not enough to leave the embrace completely.

"Uh... I think so. I only caught a glimpse of them as they crossed the bridge. They seemed alright to me. But, ah... get dressed. You're not going to see them like this," Bard gestured to the knotted blanket.

To the man's breathtaking amusement, Celegorm stepped back and looked about himself in wonder. Clothes? He vaguely recalled having some, although it was uncertain that they had survived. If furniture had broken in the madness between them, he doubted that any of his clothes had remained intact. Bard seemed in possession of a whole chest of nondescript clothes, but those would not fit Celegorm and his skin itched at the mere thought of donning some rough fabric.

Bard was still laughing as he slipped out of the bedroom and returned a moment later with a stack of neatly folded clothes and Celegorm's doeskin boots.

"My neighbor was kind enough to stitch your shirt together, although her needle-work is nothing compared to the skill of the Elves," Bard said, making Celegorm wonder exactly when the man had gone to have his clothing mended. Hadn't they been together all the time? What kind of witchcraft did Bard practice to make him forget about everything but himself?

"You slept, Turko. You were far more exhausted than you knew. And small wonder, you've been on the road and in danger for months," the man said, carding his fingers through the mass of tangled hair that tumbled down Celegorm's back.

"And you only added to the exhaustion, didn't you?" the Elf grinned, leaning into Bard's hands and momentarily forgetting about pulling his clothes on. But Bard was none-too gentle as he combed out the knots and tangles, likely on purpose and knowing that otherwise, he'd never be done with the task. "Ow, ow... that's... ow! I know you like my hair, but that doesn't mean you can keep it," he grumbled.

Bard shoved at him playfully and backed away, letting Celegorm finally get dressed. As he laced his shirt, the Elf recalled where it had come from and the Elf that had helped him put it on as though Celegorm were helpless. _Helpless to keep from drawing the poor prince further in_ was more like it. With a twinge of guilt, he pushed Legolas from his mind, finding it much harder to do so than it had been in the joy of reunion. But what the hells did that matter in light of his father and his brothers having arrived, alive and well and Celegorm spun on his bare heels, ready to burst through the door and run to them.

"Um... you might want to put your boots on?" Bard suggested.

Celegorm rolled his eyes and slipped into the supple boots, then pulled his hair back into a hasty braid, knowing that his kinsmen wouldn't give a whit about his appearance so long as he was well and happy. Which he was... and plenty.

"You're coming with me, aren't you?" he asked Bard.

"Er... no."

"No? Why not? I want them to meet you," Celegorm frowned.

"They will. They _have_ met me, remember?"

"But... not like _this_. I want to tell them who you are and what you mean to me. They'll know anyway, and they'll want to see you."

"Not... right now. I mean, not looking like this," Bard said, with a self-deprecating smile.

"What's wrong with the way you look? You're beautiful. I love you," Celegorm said, wondering at the sudden shyness and guessing that it was more than just skin deep. Anyone would be daunted by the idea of meeting a whole clan of Elves just ready to judge if they did not appreciate what they saw. And Celegorm had not painted an ideal picture of his kinsmen either. Still, they should see right away how unbelievably happy Bard had made him and they _would_ welcome him among them. Fëanor, at least, most certainly would.

But all coherent thought fled from his mind as Bard pulled him in another crushing embrace and kissed him within an inch of Celegorm's sanity.

"You do not know how many times I prayed you would come back to me and say this. Or how many times I wanted to punch a hole in your head for NOT coming back to tell me. I still want to... aaargh!" the man growled into another possessive kiss and it was terribly difficult for Celegorm to remember he even had brothers and a father who waited for him. "Go! Go now, before I lose myself again and keep you locked up in here forever."

"You're coming with me," Celegorm pressed the matter, mostly because he did not want that delicious heat to be dislodged from him.

"I will come later. You need a little bit of time with your kinsmen. They must be worried about you. I've been told that the twins scoured the town for you that morning. I will come, I am not afraid. Just... unprepared," Bard said. "This is not vanity, Turko. But... I already know your father, remember? And when he saw me at the edge of Mirkwood, it didn't matter that he was desperate for news of you and frightened for your safety... I felt his eyes on me as though he were trying to pry apart the sides of a shell to see the pearl inside. He looked beneath this rough exterior and I know he saw something else."

Celegorm growled impatiently, knowing that looks mattered not at all to his father and Fëanor had seen something else entirely in Bard. Perhaps he has sensed Celegorm himself in the man, the love he had planted there years before and nothing had been able to rout it out.

"Ah, that sounds like my father," the Elf smiled instead. "Fine. Fine, then. Make yourself pretty, if that's what you wish. But it will not matter to my kinsmen. They will see that you love me and that is all they need to know."

A few moments later, Celegorm was flying through the narrow streets of Lake Town, sidestepping people and jumping over obstacles and bursting into the Market Pool like a golden arrow. He slammed into the railing and all but toppled over it for an impromptu bath in the lake below... or perhaps to break his neck against the boats floating down there. He felt countless pair of eyes on him and heard the whispers prompted by his meteoric appearance, recalling that most of Lake Town's inhabitants knew him. Well then, maybe one of the gawkers could direct him toward Thorin Oakenshield's lodgings, as he had no idea where they were. Bard might have mentioned it, but that wasn't the only thing Celegorm had glossed over in light of more important matters.

_'Surface... surface, you idiot!'_ he muttered to himself, all but tapping the side of his head to clear it. _'Show up like this before that fiend Curufinwë and you'll never hear the end of it.'_

Grinning broadly and itching to crush his little brother in a tremendous hug, Celegorm stopped before a potter's booth and asked for directions. He flashed the man a brilliant smile and made another run for it, skidding to a halt before the house in question when he saw that the front door had been left ajar. Giving the construction a perfunctory look and recalling the heroes' welcome that Thorin's company had received upon their arrival, Celegorm took a steadying breath and made to push the door open. But he halted in mid-motion when he heard voices drifting from inside and recognized who they belonged to. Thorin was saying something to Celegorm's father, or rather, barking an order at him and Fëanor said something in a tone that held both surprise and amusement.

_'Atar!'_ Celegorm all but shouted with delight, filled-as always-with wonder and joy and relief upon hearing that beloved voice. Thousands of years would have to pass before the utter relief of knowing that their father was indeed with them would lessen. But Celegorm somehow mastered the impulse to crash into the house and collect all his kinsmen in his arms. He slipped inside the house instead, and hid himself behind one of the thick pillars that upheld the ceiling of a wide hall.

Before him, in the middle of that spacious room, all the Dwarves had gathered to welcome their Elven companions. Or rather, to face the newly arrived Elves, while between their two groups, Thorin and Fëanor enacted a scene that elicited much chuckling and many amused looks.

"But... I thought you didn't want me to do that, you said it makes you feel treated as a child," Fëanor was telling the Dwarf, his lips twitching under the assault of a mighty grin.

"On your damned knees, Elf!" Thorin growled, but his eyes betrayed him, as they burned bright and delighted in the Dwarf's otherwise gruff appearance.

With a minute shrug, Fëanor knelt and laughed breathlessly when Thorin pulled him into a fierce hug.

"What took you so bloody long?" the Dwarf muttered, pushing Fëanor away before he had the chance to properly return the affections.

In spite of his broad smile, Thorin still looked as though he might deck Celergorm's father in the same beat as welcoming him. Celegorm's own shoulders shook with silent laughter and delight at how pleased his father seemed, beaming even as he knelt before the bristling Dwarf.

"I'm sorry, I've been busy," Fëanor replied, laughter in his voice. "But I missed you too," he smiled warmly and made to embrace Thorin. But the Dwarf would have none of that anymore, pushing Fëanor back and nudging him to get up.

As he rose, Fëanor's eyes fell on his missing son and Celegorm ran to him. Strong arms came around him, almost lifting him from the ground and Celegorm wasn't entirely sure he was crying out in delight only within the confines of his own head. A distant part of him knew that they didn't present a very dignified Elvish sight, but to Mandos with it, if Thorin's motley crew hadn't seen everything from the Fëanorians, nobody in Middle-earth had.

His father drew back a moment later, holding Celegorm at arm's length and sweeping those all-knowing, all-seeing eyes over him.

"Oh, Turko… You're _glowing_!" Fëanor said, surprise lending even more brightness to his already brilliant smile.

Celegorm nodded slowly and grinned in a way that undoubtedly _glowed_. He didn't know what to say, where to start, but in his father's eyes he saw that perhaps, explanations were unnecessary for the time being.

That, however, was not the case of one disgruntled little brother of his, who yanked Celegorm aside and shook him, a thunderous look on his face.

"And where in bloody blazes have you been, you lumbering idiot?" Curufin muttered. "I can't believe those two knuckleheads lost you!"

"Ah, baby brother, I missed you too," Celegorm chuckled as he saw Curufin's would-be indignation crumbling before a relieved smile. He pulled his mouthy brother into the enormous hug Curufin was actually clamoring for and presumed that if Curufin ever deigned to release him, he would be passed from one brother to the other, while the Dwarves watched and snickered and cracked jokes about pansy Elves.

…

Sometime later, they all sat around a long, low table, helping themselves to copious amounts of ale and mead and the ever-present Dorwinion. Sprawled in their seats or on the cushions spread on the floor for the long-limbed Elves, they ate and drank and talked about a dozen things at once, in a cacophony of voices that would have grated Celegorm's nerves… if the nerves in question were not all singing. He'd expected to sober up somewhat and come to his senses, but being among his kinsmen only magnified the giddiness and the way happiness bubbled inside him like a kettle about to blow. If Bard did not show himself, he would have to drag Curufin aside and tell him… _something_.

Celegorm caught snatches of conversation here and there and noticed how his father carefully steered said conversations from the matter of Dol Guldur. It concerned him greatly as he saw behind the mirth in his kinsmen's eyes the darkness and fear they had left behind. But not even that was enough to drag him out of the stupidly happy place Celegorm had fallen into. They could attempt to pull him out by the hair and he'd be none the wiser. Judging from their inquisitive (and in some cases, impatient) looks, his brothers might just try it. Stuck to his side, Curufin poked and prodded him and kept Celegorm's goblet full, annoyed by his brother's tight-lipped giddiness. But they had to _see_ Bard before Celegorm could offer some kind of explanation and that would certainly not come in front of the Dwarves. They had no business knowing anything of his private affairs although Thorin Oakenshield's expression as he eyed him bore uncanny similarities to that of Celegorm's father.

Those two… Fëanor had been right to say that he and Thorin Oakenshield were very much alike. If his father were four feet tall, hairy, gruff and perpetually angry, not to mention obsessed with treasure… yes, there were similarities there, although Celegorm would not present his conclusions to his father in that _exact_ way. As such thoughts chased each other lazily through his distracted mind, Celegorm _did_ focus on one thing. He strained his ears for a knock on the front door and hoped that he could hear it through the din of so many clashing voices.

In the sorry event that Bard did not mean to show himself, Celegorm would have to hunt him down and with that, his thoughts turned to unspeakable things, prompting Curufin to jab him viciously and - for the umpteenth time- to demand an explanation for his utterly stupid grin. It might have been Celegorm's imagination or wishful thinking, but he thought he heard the long expected knock.

He sprang to his feet and strode to the door with Curufin on his heels, but the way his impatient little brother practically breathed down his neck became inconsequential when Celegorm pulled back the door and saw that it his Elven hearing had not failed him.

On the threshold stood a tall, dark-haired man with curly locks combed back and cropped just below his ears. Clean shaven and dressed in crisp clothes fresh off the press, he squared broad shoulders under a black velvet tunic and failed miserably at keeping a straight face. His eyes widened desperately and somewhat comically as he saw Celegorm standing on the threshold, bug-eyed and slack-jawed.

"Who… oh, I know you," Curufin pushed his stupefied brother out of the way and motioned the newcomer to enter. "You're that archer who took our horses. Well, come in, have a drink, let us know how our horses fare and what we owe you for the hospitality."

Gulping audibly and silently begging Celegorm to do something else but stare thunderstruck, Bard stepped inside the hall.

"What are you gawking at?" Curufin nudged his brother. "Come on, I know you're a drooling idiot, but you don't have to show it to everyone else."

Clutching the door and shaking his head to dispel whatever afflicted his vision, Celegorm stood there entirely unable to do much else but follow Bard's hesitant trek through the room. Conversation gradually faltered at the table as the others noticed the newcomer and still, Celegorm gawked in disbelief. _That_ was Bard?!

"Dumb and shiny as a doorknob," Curufin muttered under his breath, casting Celegorm a disparaging look. The sheer amount of name-calling showed just how annoyed Curufin had become with his brother's peculiar behavior, but Celegorm could care less. The tense and terrified man who's eyes pleaded for help as they met his were all Celegorm could focus on.

"Ah, Bard," Celegorm heard his father and saw him rise smoothly in greeting. "I had planned to seek you out later, but I am pleased that you have come. I wish to thank you not merely for your help, but on behalf of us all, for the warm welcome we have received from your townsfolk. I understand that you have left word with the Master to expect our arrival?"

"Yes, sir. My Lord F… Curufinwë," Bard answered, his throaty voice barely rising above a whisper.

By the door, Celegorm bit the inside of his lip bloody and wrenched himself out of the spot where he'd uselessly grown roots. In three long strides, he came to Bard's side and laid a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tense man jump and eye him desperately.

"Father, I understand you know Bard," Celegorm found his voice at last, although it sounded distant and forced in his ears. "He is captain of Esgaroth's guard, but also the son of Girion, the late lord of Dale," the Elf said, nodding to Thorin who greeted Bard with a courteous nod. He and Balin and Dwalin probably recalled the ruling house of Dale before their neighbors and allies were stamped out by the dragon's devastating attack.

It was a sobering thought and it dispelled some of the enchantment that Bard's transformation had brought upon the bewildered Elf. Some of it_,_ but by no means _all_ of it.

His father acknowledged the man's noble origin with a slight tilt of his head, raising his eyebrows a fraction at the change in Bard's appearance. What had Bard called it? Prying apart the shell to find the pearl beneath? How very accurate, the Elf thought, warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach and igniting a proud smile on his face.

"Well met once more, Bard of Lake Town _and_ Dale," Fëanor stepped closer and clasped Bard's free shoulder. His brilliant eyes moved from the breathless man to Celegorm and understanding dawned in them immediately. "Well met, indeed. I see now that I must thank you for the good keeping of more than just our horses and belongings," he said, his voice no louder than a murmur. But it was warm and Fëanor's smile held nothing unfriendly, causing a great weight to fall from Celegorm's shoulders.

Bard's even more so, as he lowered his eyes (for who could brave the intense scrutiny of Celegorm's father for too long, even when no danger radiated from him?) and Celegorm felt some of the tension seeping out of him.

"I met Bard when I journeyed to this part of the world ten years ago. He was a curious and eager young man back then. I taught him how to shoot with a longbow and we became friends while the men of this town extended their hospitality to me for two seasons," Celegorm offered by way of explanation, cursing himself for how lame and empty and false his words sounded, even though he uttered no lie. But the well-practiced game of filtering the truth to suit his purposes did not apply to Bard and guilt immediately twisted in his stomach. Celegorm cast Bard an apologetic look and saw the corners of that lovely, _beard free _mouth drop slightly.

"Well, then… any friend of yours is a friend of mine," Curufin offered jovially, clapping Bard's back as his father retreated, smiling thoughtfully. "Come, let us drink to this. And to the way you've cleaned up. I've got to say, I almost didn't recognize you for a moment there, all washed and shaved and dressed properly. Not that it matters much, there are no mirrors out there in the wild, but it's nice to see you're quite a looker under all that grimness and grime," Curufin carried on, undisturbed by Bard's discomfited look.

"That's _Kurvo_," Celegorm whispered in the man's ear, leaning closer to him and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I gathered as much," Bard exhaled, eying Celegorm uncertainly.

Predictably, Curufin spun on his heels and brought his face very close to Bard's, his eyes narrowing in sudden suspicion. He tilted his head and weighed the very still man for a moment, before swooping closer still and taking a deep whiff of Bard's scent. Even as he tried to steady Bard, Celegorm felt laughter bubbling inside him and barely bit it back when Curufin stepped aside and planted himself into Celegorm's personal space. Without so much as 'by your leave' (which, if Celegorm wanted to be fair, his brother had never asked for), Curufin stuck his nose into the open collar of Celegorm's shirt and inhaled deeply.

"Good puppy," Celegorm patted the dark head, wondering if he should push Curufin away or squeeze the life out of him in warning or just let loose the hysterical laughter rumbling in his stomach.

"Oh, you… you shameless son of a…," Curufin growled.

"Atar!" Celegorm threw his father a pleading look.

"Curufinwë! Not now! Not here, for Eru's sake! Shut your mouth and back off," Fëanor pulled his errant son back, muttering his warning in the High Tongue. "Find another seat and pour Bard a drink," he switched to Westron and propelled Curufin in a direction that was, thankfully, _away_ from a stunned Bard and a desperately amused Celegorm.

"I might have known, you shameless fiend!" Curufin cast Celegorm a furious look over his shoulder. "You don't waste any time, do you? I'm scouring the whole damned wilderness after your sorry ass for weeks, desperate that you might be injured or eaten or worse! And what do _you_ do?!" he shouted for his kinsmen's understanding alone, even as he fetched an empty goblet and filled it with shaking hands.

"Curufinwë, that is quite enough," Fëanor said, very quietly, but also deadly serious, giving Curufin absolute pause.

Biting back more charming things for fear of their father's wrath, Curufin offered Bard the goblet and the man took it, whispering a shaken 'thank you'.

"He hates me, doesn't he?" Bard turned to Celegorm, holding the goblet awkwardly and, for a moment, the Elf's vision was filled with memories of a younger upturned face, just as fair and anxious and by force he did not even know he possessed, Celegorm somehow refrained from showering it with reassuring kisses.

"Ah, no. It's me he's angry at," he whispered and put an arm around Bard's shoulders, drawing the man against him in what might have passed as a simple friendly gesture… to the blind and the deaf, perhaps. "Don't worry, he'll get over it. Eventually. I am sorry, but I _did_ warn you that my family is absolutely insane," he nudged Bard playfully, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness. "If you want to reason with someone around here, I suggest talking to a Dwarf."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: It has come to my attention that I made a rather blatant mistake in the previous chapter, concerning Bard and his ancestry. I made him son of Girion, but that is impossible, seeing how Dale fell almost 200 years before the events narrated in this tale. Also, I have decided to make Bard younger in this story than he is in 'The Hobbit', for selfish (Elvish!) reasons. As such, I have gone back to remedy the slip and in this chapter, Bard himself sheds some light on his family.  
**

* * *

25.

It was a merry gathering, for all intents and purposes. Dwarves and Elves and a Man standing for their hosts, all strewn around a long table where food and drink never ran out and neither did the tidings that the companions wanted to share.

And yet, tension thick enough to cut with a knife floated on undercurrents of unspoken thoughts and choked Fili's appetite as he nursed a mug of drink gone stale and observed the people around him.

Thorin had made a spectacle of himself, giving Fëanor a warm welcome that had left his nephew gobsmacked. Granted, even Fili felt a measure of relief to see that Fëanor and his sons had survived Gandalf's machinations and their adventure in Dol Guldur (he could not think of it in any other terms or dwell too much on the Necromancer without feeling his hair stand on end and dismissing the notion that they had been so close to Sauron's lair). But from there to hugging the Elf and sitting at his side, hanging on his every word when Fëanor spoke, was a long way. Perhaps Thorin meant_ not_ to confront the Elf and throw his lies back into that charming face. Perhaps his uncle had been enchanted enough to care not one whit that he had been lied to and manipulated.

But Fili could not simply brush it aside and pretend it did not matter. Perhaps it angered him more because he himself had been conned into befriending, trusting and _caring_ for Celegorm. The Elf had only ever shown him the same, but the mere thought that it may have been manipulation on his part made Fili grind his teeth and chafe against the promise he had made to say nothing before his uncle spoke to the Elves.

Even if he had failed to keep himself in check, the opportunity to break his promise had not presented himself, as Celegorm had made himself scarce upon their arrival in Esgaroth and not even his brothers could locate him. Then, he surfaced days later to meet his kinsmen and sat at the table as though nothing were amiss, taking no note of Fili beyond greeting him absently.

And there the damned Elf was, drinking and smiling and _hovering_ around the newly arrived man, sitting so close to him that Fili was surprised Bard could even breathe. While he could chalk that up to the same shamelessness that had manipulated the Mirkwood prince into betraying his father and freeing his prisoners, Fili guessed there was more to it and he had come to know those Elves well enough to see past their composed expressions. Celegorm glowed, as his father had so aptly put it, but the other six and even Fëanor himself exchanged furtive looks of unmistakable panic. On Celegorm's other side but happily ignored by his brother, Curufin had grown livid and Fili wondered what in Mahal's name was wrong with those people.

The more was said, the more remained unspoken. Fili felt it keenly and would have laughed at himself for the attack of paranoia that caused him to search for hidden meanings to everything he heard. But how could he not doubt, when Fëanor carefully omitted to mention the Necromancer's identity and seemed to treat the danger they had been in lightly? How to believe him when he shrugged off his own brush with Thranduil and his people like it had been a tea-party, when Fili remembered all too well the bruises Celegorm had so hospitably been treated to? Why did the Elves - so joyously reunited just moments before – look as though someone had punched them in the gut, while Celegorm beamed undisturbed and the man at his side tried very hard not to melt into him? What in bloody blazes was going on and how to break the insufferable silence on these matters, when everyone else seemed perfectly content to eat and drink and enjoy the royal treatment Esgaroth had offered?

Even _that _sat unwell with Fili, no matter how tempted he was to puff himself up and stroll through the city as a proud peacock. The besotted crowds certainly expected him to do so and to carry himself like a proud Heir of Durin, but in the distance, the Lonely Mountain loomed dark and forbidding, reminding Fili that he was not yet heir of anything. All he and his companions had been through might amount to naught in the face of what awaited under that defiant tooth of rock and while the blood of his forefathers called him to action, Fili was not quite so eager to hurl himself against the mountain and challenge the dragon to relinquish it.

And… what was that man Bard saying? That he too had cause to interest himself in their quest? Fili tried to shake himself free of his unhappy thoughts and pay the exchange between Bard and Thorin more attention.

"I have not been north since before winter fell upon us early last year," Bard was saying. "And years have passed since I have last looked upon the ruins of Dale. The lands are desolate and the journey perilous, My Lord," he told Thorin. "Packs of wolves roam from the north and sometimes steal as far south as Esgaroth if the winters are harsh and game is scarce. There may be no such danger while this season lasts, but as the year draws to a close…"

"Have you seen the dragon or any sign of it?" Thorin cut him off impatiently.

"No. Never," Bard shook his head. "I understand from my elders that the dragon has not shown itself for decades, although that does not mean it has lain dormant all this time. It may hunt in the north and steer clear of inhabited places. I cannot say. But from the ruins of Dale, the marks of its presence are visible. Not merely the devastation of Smaug's first attack but newer scars upon the mountain face and the lands nearby. I have seen tracks in the earth and traces of fresh burning. Sometimes the stream that flows out of the broken gates is blackened and fouled and when it reaches our lake, fish float dead upon the surface. Smaug is alive, if that is what you wish to ask me. I believe that he is alive deep inside the mountain and my people share that belief. They will not go anywhere near it."

Not unlike Fili himself, Thorin had probably entertained the foolish hope that Smaug was dead. He sighed and shook his head, turning to the Elf at his side when Fëanor gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. Silent understanding passed between them and Fili wanted to scream, because since when did his uncle need to be reassured by an Elf?!

"So Smaug lives. Well, that was to be expected," Dwalin grumbled, interesting himself in whatever lay at the bottom of his tankard. "This changes nothing. We'll do what we came here to do all the same."

He was answered with an unsurprising lack of enthusiasm as Bard's words had served to sober even the most inebriated of his companions.

"If I may," the man said. "I would be your guide when you set out for the mountain, if you will have me."

"No!" Celegorm started, brows drawn together as he shook his head at the man.

"You may not need a guide, not while you have these remarkable companions to aid you," Bard said carefully, his eyes darting to Fëanor briefly. "But I would join your quest if you allowed it, My Lord."

"Bard, no!" Celegorm slammed his hand on the table, leaning even closer to the man, but Bard's fingers dug into the Elf's forearm in an attempt to silence him.

Thorin's own face had clouded and Fili could guess what his uncle thought behind his forbidding frown. Yet more so-called help, more stragglers latching onto the company in search of treasure, most likely.

"Please, I know what my interest in your business might look like, but I have much cause to concern myself with Erebor," Bard insisted, focused on Thorin alone, while Celegorm struggled to free his arm and to silence him. "I am, as Tyelkormo has introduced me, the heir of Girion and the last one in a line of lords bereft of their home. I am not unlike yourself, My Lord Thorin. I too long for a home that I have only ever seen in ruins. My grandfather was a child when the dragon burned our city. He and mother alone escaped of all our family and they fled south with other devastated survivors. Here, in Esgaroth, they made a life for themselves, the hard living of simple workers, but they never forgot their legacy or our beautiful city laid to waste. My father grew up with tales of what we had lost and I too have been brought up to remember Dale. Not once did I dream that one day I would be able to do more than stroll through the ruins and rebuild the city with my mind's eye. But now… now, my Lords, you are here and you wish to take back your kingdom," Bard's voice rose as he poured more passion into his speech. "I ask you for nothing else but a chance to reclaim my home as well."

"No!" Celegorm exhaled in a shuddering sigh and surely, the bruises on his forearms would show for days.

"I will not be parted from you again!" Bard hissed at him, refusing to meet the Elf's eyes and at their side, Fili heard Curufin issuing a cry much like a wounded animal.

Celegorm wrenched himself free of Bard's gasp and turned to his brother, touching him gingerly and with great concern. Even from where he sat, Fili could tell that Curufin's eyes were open wounds in the Elf's pale face and for a moment, Celegorm stared at him, taken aback.

Whether the two could talk to each other without speaking a word or not, Celegorm seemed to finally understand what ailed his brother. Fili saw him closing his eyes and sighing, a blend of love and sadness passing over his features for a moment. He sat up and pulled Curufin after him, paying the questioning looks directed at them no mind. Without a word of explanation, the two walked to the front door (or rather, one dragged the other out) and left the house to a chorus of perplexed whispers at their backs.

"My sons… they are very protective of each other," Fëanor said, shrugging minutely and eying Bard as though he expected the man to understand.

"I know," Bard smiled and, to Fili's frustration, he seemed to need no other explanation.

But damnit, Fili did NOT understand and he would have shouted at someone… _anyone_ who would tell him what was going on.

"Tyelkormo wishes to keep me as far away from harm as possible, I know that too. But it is not his decision to make," Bard told Fëanor and either he did not know who he was talking to or knew only too well, but the man did not flinch under the scrutiny of those brilliant eyes.

"I see your point," Thorin intervened, drawing Bard's attention back to him. "The friendship between my people and yours urges me to consider your request very seriously. If we take back Erebor and I am King Under the Mountain, I would have Dale rebuilt and you would lead your people back into the city. But these are serious matters that need more thinking over. We will be in Lake Town for a while yet. I would speak with you more as we prepare the expedition and if my companions agree, you may go with us."

Fili felt the gears in his head coming to a screeching halt and he gave his brother a wide-eyed look of complete disbelief. There was nothing to consider, it was a simple decision… either dismiss the man as a gold-digger (which he did not appear to be but then, Fili knew better than to take people at face-value anymore) or accept him as a guide if he claimed he knew the lands north of Esgaroth. But what proof did Bard have of being descended from the lords of Dale? And even if he could present such proof, surely Thorin did not mean to accept him into the company and make him privy to their secrets. In Mahal's name, was that even Thorin Oakenshield, sagely putting off a decision on the matter and claiming that he had to consult his companions before saying yes or no? One glance at his fellow Dwarves told Fili that he was not the only one either mentally or actually scratching his head in disbelief.

As the man gave his thanks and Thorin accepted them gracefully, Fili threw back his chair and left the table, unable to endure the madness of it all any longer. He could not tolerate the way his uncle seemed to condone constant outside interference in their business or the lying behind it. Not without hurling whatever fell into his hands and shouting his indignation with it all.

Kili called out his name and ran after him, babbling something and fussing over him when Fili paid him no mind. He was sorely tempted to draw his brother aside and tell him everything that bothered Fili to no end, but he knew his brother well enough to be certain that Kili could not keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes. And maybe he was overreacting. He had to admit to himself that he did not hate being kept in the dark about so many things so much as the reasons _why_ the Elves and Thorin thought he should be kept in the dark.

As he stomped angrily toward the door and did not even bother to shush his brother, Fili came upon the returning Celegorm and Curufin. The two strode past the Dwarves without a word and while Celegorm tilted his head in a distracted salute, Curufin was completely oblivious. To Fili, it seemed that the younger brother's eyes were bloodshot and puffy, as though Curufin had been crying, but why on earth would he...?

Arm around his brother' shoulders, Celegorm steered Curufin back to the table and Fili all but ran out of the house, desperate for a breath of fresh air and to be away from so many things he did not understand. Kili finally quieted and fell in stride with him as they left the house and slipped into the narrow alley that took them to the quays. It would be good to look at the Lonely Mountain and remember what really mattered, away from all the politics, the lying and the intrigue.


	26. Chapter 26

26.

A little boy with wide eyes beneath a mop of tangled hair the color of wheat found Fili and his brother still gazing at the Lonely Mountain and sharing a moment of quiet understanding that was highly uncharacteristic for one of Kili's temper. _His Majesty, the Dwarf King summoned them back to the house_, the boy stuttered, eying the Dwarves as though they were heroes descended form old tales. For most of Lake Town's inhabitants, it probably did feel as though their home had been invaded by creatures of myth and wonder. With a wry grin, Fili thought that even _he_ did not know in full how true his assessment was.

But he followed the summons and found that Thorin was waiting for them on the threshold of their guest house. Bofur sat on the steps, whittling something with his pocket-knife and murmuring a snatch of song under his breath. Beneath the row of narrow windows, Fëanor and Celegorm flanked Bard and spoke to him in quiet voices.

Under the surface of serious matters being discussed, even a blind man could see that Bard exulted relief to have been accepted. Fili wondered whether Thorin had added him to their company without even going through the motions of consulting anyone, as he had promised at the table. But then, it was not Thorin Oakenshield's acceptance that the man needed the most and judging by his relaxed stance as father and son bracketed him, Fili guessed that Bard had found the welcome he needed among the Elves.

Celegorm turned at the sound of their boots thudding against the wooden pavement of Esgaroth's streets. The Elf smiled at Fili and opened his mouth to say something, but just as quickly, mirth faded from his face and shutters fell over his eyes. Try as he might and even though he sometimes wanted to, Fili had not been able to muster the smallest smile for his friend's benefit, but Celegorm was not supposed to simply let that pass and do nothing! He was not supposed to give Fili that wounded look and then turn away quietly! But Celegorm did just that, he shifted closer to Bard and his head snapped away from Fili so sharply that Celegorm's long braid flew over the Elf's shoulder.

Fresh ire rose inside Fili and he ground his teeth loud enough for the whole of Lake Town to hear. But his uncle's eyes were on him, hard and forbidding. Thorin shook his head slowly, urging Fili to bite back the frustrated growl building inside him.

"We go now to retrieve our belongings," Thorin said. "Bard has told us that he and his men have traveled to the edge of the forest where we were taken and they have found our ponies. Most of them survived the attack and the stampede. Bard has made arrangements with his people to have our animals tended to and to keep safe everything else that fell from us before the spiders drew us away. "

"I must admit, my Lords, that I did not hold much hope of ever returning your belongings to you," Bard said. "But not long after coming upon that desolate scene, we met your companions," the man's eyes turned to Fëanor briefly, drawing a small smile from the Elf. "I would have gone with them on the search, but I was not permitted to," Bard added, as Celegorm shifted at his side, ready to protest. "Instead, I have taken horses and gear and provisions in my custody and I am glad to have been of service even in this small way. Now, if you will follow me, I would show you where your animals are held and return to you items that I am sure are of great value to you."

Fili blinked and tugged gently on one of his whiskers. He wondered if Bard's speech had been delivered for his and Kili's benefit and would have chuckled at the man's stiff politeness. He did not dislike Bard. On quite the contrary, taken at face value, he appeared to be a decent fellow and perhaps, if Thorin (or the Elves) raised no further protest, he would make a good companion on the northbound journey. But so much more lurked beyond the man's appearance and for that, Fili would remain wary.

"Where is everyone else?" Kili asked.

"Most of them are sleeping off the effects of this morning's merry reunion," Bofur grinned in reply.

"Either that, or holding conference," Fëanor added and Fili guessed that he was referring to the rest of his brood. He recalled the shocking panic he had read on the Elves' faces and knew it had something to do with the man who shifted uncomfortably at Fëanor's words.

"Ah, we are only going to take a quick look, it doesn't take all of us to do that. We'll come back and tell the others what we've found. Lead the way," Celegorm put his hand on Bard's shoulder and neglected to remove it as the man nodded and strode away from the house.

With a wink and a small shrug, Bofur started after them, welcoming Fili and Kili on either side of him and struggling to keep up with the Elf's and the man's long strides. Behind them, Thorin and Fëanor followed in companionable silence and again, Fili wondered how his uncle could affect such ease. But that mystery would remain unsolved as they walked along Lake Town's narrow streets and headed toward the great bridge. It was the time of the mid-say meal and most of the town's inhabitants had retreated to their homes, but the guards stood at attention at both gates, saluting their captain and bowing deeply before both Dwarves and Elves.

They had been honored guests in Esgaroth for days and had not left the floating city at all, but Fili knew that he was not the only one who began to chafe at the constant fawning and the multitude of people swarming around them. Used to the freedom and the peace of open spaces, not to mention a limited number of companions, Fili longed to be free of the crammed buildings and the complete lack of privacy, but he did not even know how much he had missed having firm ground beneath his feet until he stepped off the bridge and strode away from the gravelly lake shore.

He had observed that Esgaroth was not merely a lake town. The people did indeed trade and live in the conglomerate of buildings so skilfully upheld above the lake's surface, but the town did not thrive merely on trade. South of the bridge and tucked between fields of corn ripening for the upcoming harvest, there seemed to be another settlement, the size and shape of a small village. From the quays, Fili had been able to make out the shingled and thatched roofs of several buildings, from tall, wide barns, to sheds and stables and storage rooms and he guessed that while the lake offered its inhabitants protection, their sustenance came from work in the fields. Fili had come across only only a handful of workshops inside Lake Town, tailors and shoemakers and jewelers doing their business on the inner quays, but beyond that, there hadn't been any sign of heavier industry. It made sense, of course, as the wooden pillars -no matter how skilfully crafted - could only support so much weight and there could be no forges in a place where fire was undoubtedly the greatest danger.

Behind Fili, Fëanor was speaking precisely about that and the young Dwarf fell in step with his uncle, meaning to pay more attention to their conversation.

"I have asked Bard to accompany me before the Master of Esgaroth and with his leave, my sons and I will lodge here," the Elf was saying, gesturing toward the rooftops that peeked over the tall corn. "There is no room to breathe in that town," Fëanor lowered his voice and eyed Thorin almost compassionately, when the Dwarf grunted in agreement. "But that is not why I will decline if the same hospitality is extended to me as well. I'd rather stay in the village because there is work to be done here. I haven't seen it yet, but I presume this is where they keep their forges and their armories and the carpenter shops. We need to reforge our weapons and replenish our gear, but beyond that, I would earn my keep while we stay here."

"You... _you_ would work for these people?" Thorin glanced up sharply and something in his eyes gave the Elf pause.

"Why not?" Fëanor frowned. "We may be here for weeks. It is too early to set out for the mountain and we cannot do so before we've all had a rest. Believe it or not, even I need a moment to draw breath, but it is not my habit to sit idly. I would that they give me and Curufinwë room to work in one of their forges and perhaps you could join me as well?" the Elf's expression softened. "We may repay these people for their hospitality as we have in Imladris, although I don't believe they would welcome a dragon rendering quite so much."

"No, they would not," Thorin replied severely, his brows drawing together above suddenly clouded eyes. He and Fëanor had stopped in the middle of the dusty road that plunged into the corn-fields and turned to face each other.

Hair standing on the back of his neck all of a sudden, Fili walked back to them and studied them intently. Tension sprang between the two and perhaps Thorin had made up his mind to speak, seeing how they were out of the city, away from all the prying eyes and ears.

"If you are implying that I would rather sit idly and accept being treated like a King when I am, in fact, little but fresh amusement for these people, you are mistaken," Thorin bristled at the Elf and Fëanor's lips twitched into a brief smile.

"That is not what I said," the Elf replied softly. "But then, you should not be so surprised that my sons and I would work here instead of seeking a King's welcome ourselves. Yet you are surprised. I wonder..."

Fili saw understanding dawn in the Elf's eyes and, to his satisfaction, there was also anxiousness there. Perhaps Fëanor knew that his game was up as well and he'd merely avoided a confrontation on the matter.

"I wonder about a lot of things, Curufinwë," Thorin held the Elf's gaze, saying more with his eyes than with words.

"Of course you do," Fëanor sighed. "You have been in Thranduil's halls, after all. You have spoken to him."

"I have spared that bastard only insult and had no ears for the filth he spewed. But I would speak with _you_," Thorin finished pointedly, bearing down on the Elf even if it was Fëanor who towered over him. "I _must_ speak with you. Privately," he insisted and Fili barely bit back a cry of relief.

"Yes, you must," Fëanor replied absently and although he still faced Thorin, his gaze had turned inward.

"Father, is something amiss?" Celegorm sped back and touched his father's shoulder gently.

"No," Fëanor started and turned to his son but his expression said otherwise and even Fili saw the silent plea in the look that the two exchanged.

"Good. Because... I must ask you to do something for me," the blond said, his grip on Fëanor's shoulder tightening.

"Now?" Fëanor blinked. "What is it?"

"Now would be better than later. It's... the Mirkwood prince, atar. Bard says that he has kept only two of his father's people with him and would not take lodgings in the city either. Rather, they are housed in a small house at the edge of these fields. Surely, they have espied your arrival and they are waiting for me. For _us_. Now... we have not had time to speak of it, but you can imagine how I have secured the prince's friendship and his cooperation in setting us free," Celegorm ducked his head and cast a guilty glance toward Bard.

Fili had not heard the man approach, but Bard had most certainly followed Celegorm's words to his father and his jaw tightened, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Under the circumstances, I could think of nothing better to do," Celegorm added, drawing a strange smile from his father. "But things are... far more complicated now and I believe it's best to seek Legolas before he comes to us. I know he wishes to meet you and perhaps...," the blond trailed off.

"Let us find the prince, then," Fëanor straightened and nodded.

Again, it seemed to Fili that silent speech passed between the two Elves and he would have heard _that_, instead of hints and riddles.

"I did promise Thranduil that I would send his son back," Fëanor added. "To be completely honest with you, that may have been the only common ground between us and the most important reason why he did not order his archers to put arrows in our backs. Thranduil was just as desperate to retrieve his son as I was to have you back. So, I will speak with Legolas. You do not have to come with me if you do not wish to," he said, covering Celegorm's hand with his own.

"It's not something I can avoid, atar. This mess is my doing, although I will not turn down any help to get out of it," Celegorm smiled sheepishly. He risked only the briefest of glances toward Bard and as he observed them, Fili saw how ill-pleased the man was with what he had heard.

"Come on then, the sooner we deal with this, the better," Fëanor drew his son away but he halted in mid-step when Thorin grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

"I would _still_ speak with you," Thorin reminded him, the look on his face brooking no denial. "I will return to the others when our business here is done and I will wait for you. It does not matter if the hour grows late, I will wait and you had better come."

Still and silent for an awkward moment, Fëanor nodded. Thorin released his hand and Fëanor raised it as if to touch him. But he withdrew and held back whatever it was that bubbled on his lips, making Fili shake his head and mutter _'Cowards!_' within the confines of his head.

They were cowards, both of them... the mighty Elf Lords of legend. One hid behind his father in the attempt to rid himself of a conquest he no longer wanted and the other hid behind his son when his lies caught up with him at last. Fili watched the pair walk away briskly and threw their retreating backs an unimpressed look. Thorin bore a similar expression of annoyance and disdain, while Kili studied them both with mounting frustration. A little way off, Bofur happily pretended that he had neither head nor understood anything, but Fili had come to know the Dwarf well enough to see that Bofur was one of the most perceptive people he had ever come across.

Momentarily forgotten by everyone, Bard cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly, trying to school his face into an impassive expression and failing.

"Well, if you would follow me...?" he said, brows drawing together when Celegorm and Fëanor disappeared from view.

"We will," Kili turned to him. "Best not concern yourself too much with those Elves, they're always like that. High and mighty, speaking in riddles, always wrapped up in some drama or other," he said and Fili fought to smother the laughter bubbling inside him.

"I think all Elves are like that," Bard smiled ruefully.

"Beg your pardon, lad, I don't mean to pry, but could you tell us how you met our Elves?" Bofur fell in step with Bard when the man reached him.

Fili and Thorin exchanged a brief look and Fili understood that his uncle wanted no more 'riddles and drama' for the time being and that he was curious about the man's tale as well, if Bard would share it.

"I've met them all this morning. You saw it yourselves. The odd looks and the sniffing," Bard laughed self-consciously. "Although I was expecting worse, to be honest."

"They are a strange lot, I'll give you that," Bofur mused with a good-natured smile.

"Yes, Tyelkormo has warned me that his kinsmen would be wary of me and extremely protective of him. I can certainly understand that. How I came to know your Elven friend, Master Dwarf, is a fairly long story," the man smiled at Bofur. "But I'll not bore you with the details and it won't take long before we reach the workshops. I've known Tyelkormo for ten years now."

"Well, he did mention being here before, but in the same manner, in hints and riddles. We never would have guessed he's left such a close friend behind."

"It's not something he would speak of openly or take much pride in, I believe. But you are his friends and have been with him long enough to care for him, is that not so?" Bard eyes searched Fili and the young Dwarf found himself nodding before he could remember his anger. "I ask you this because I would not speak of private matters and betray Tyelkormo's confidence."

"Speak freely," Thorin said. "Those Elves are our friends indeed and we've been through enough by now to earn the rights to at least some of each other's secrets. It is plain to see that you and Tyelkormo are very attached to each other and if you mean to join us in our quest, we should know a bit more. If only to save you and ourselves from potential embarrassment."

Bard lowered his eyes and if his face were not so tanned, the dusting of red on his cheeks would have shown better.

"We are... _very_ attached to one another, Tyelkormo and I. And unable to conceal it, it seems. It was the same a decade ago, when he first set foot inside our city. He came with a pair of pack animals loaded with Dorwinion and claimed that he had traveled across Rhovanion on his own, drinking half the cargo as he went. He had been directed to Esgaroth where he thought he could take shelter as winter was closing in and replenish his supplies. He would not stay in the city either, although the Master gave him a warm welcome. Rather, he chose to take abode in one of the small farm houses out in the fields and promised the family it belonged to that he would tend to their wares and their animals until spring. The first time I saw Tyelkormo, he was shooting in our archery field. All of us - experienced soldiers and young guards still in training alike - simply stood there and stared as the Elf emptied his quiver into the targets. He had a strip of cloth tied over his eyes and when he finished shooting, he greeted us, saying how many we counted and even that one of us had the beginning of a cold. We had never seen anything like that before," Bard smiled fondly, drawn back into the memory.

"Aye, that sounds like the Elf we know," Bofur said.

"Perhaps. But to me, he was unlike any Elf I'd ever met. There has always been trade between the Woodland realm and Esgaroth. The Elves often come all the way to our city and partake in our feasts, although the King himself has not been this far south since before I was born. But we do know Elves and they are friendly enough. Fair and graceful and skilled archers, all of them. But Tyelkormo was nothing like the Woodland Elves. He appeared to me like the sun while Thranduil's Elves were stars and they all paled against the radiance of this one mysterious Elf. He would not speak of where he had come from, save to mention a family waiting for him and he would not meet with the Woodland Elves even though they sought him out on more than one occasion. I hid him myself and did not understand why until much later. I believed that he simply did not wish to be disturbed and truthfully, I did not wish for anyone to disturb him either. You have seen it yourselves and so, I will not deny it. I loved Tyelkormo since the first time our eyes met and something stirred in him as well, for he took me under his wing almost right away. He offered to train me and you can all imagine my fellow guards growing green with envy at that. Tyelkormo even gave me his longbow," Bard paused and reached out for the bow, startled to find that he did not carry it on his back. He still wore the fancy attire he had donned earlier and Fili guessed that the man felt unclothed without the weapons he was accustomed to bearing.

Fili could certainly sympathize as he longed for his swords and his knives. With some luck, he would retrieve them before long.

"To make a long story short, I cleaved to that remarkable Elf and would not be parted from him for anything in the world. He seemed like a god to me, descended among mortals and willing to love them... to love _me_. Throughout the winter and into spring, we were together and that was the happiest time of my life. I walked and lived in a dream... but as it always happens with dreams, one day, I woke to find myself alone."

There were shadows under the man's eyes and the grief of what he recounted seemed to haunt him still.

"Tyelkormo left without warning. He was here one day and gone the next, without a single word of parting. I searched for him and in my despair, I could not understand how or why he had been making arrangements to leave weeks in advance. I thought myself loved, unbelievable and as unlikely as it might have been. But Tyelkormo bought his precious Dorwinion, sent a caravan ahead in secret and vanished after it, making sure that I would now know and I could not follow until he was out of reach. Even so, I would have gone after him if my father had not fallen ill and my mother did not need me by her side. She took care of two ailing men that year and one of them passed away the following winter. I remained to grieve for all I had lost, but the final blow came when I traveled to Thranduil's halls and begged the king himself to tell me if he knew where I might find a golden-haired Elf called Tyelkormo. Thranduil told me that there was no such Elf, that I had been given a false name and lied to and you can all imagine how embittered I became after that."

"I'm... sorry for you, lad," Bofur offered after a long moment of uncomfortable silence. "But... what happened? Tyelkormo _does_ exist, we've all seen him among his kinsmen and his people. It is not a false name and so... Thranduil must have lied to you."

"You are right, of course. The Elf I loved is very real and although it was terribly unfair to me, he _did_ have a very good reason to leave as well. Tyelkormo left for fear of love and death. I was not cheated into believing that he cared for me as well. But for one of his kind to love a mortal _can be_ and _has been_ death. And Tyelkormo has cause to fear that more than anyone else as I understand he has seen first hand what love for a mortal will do to an Elf. So, he fled to the protection of his family and that would have been the end of it. But of course, we cannot command fate or our hearts and so, here we are today," Bard shrugged, a small, sad smile tugging his lips.

"But... you've forgiven him, just like that?" Kili blinked. "And... is he going to die now?"

"No... and no. Loving me will not kill Tyelkormo," Bard laughed softly and grimaced as he did so. "But he might fade after I die. And may not be reborn again. He does not know if he can share the fate of Mortals and follow me wherever it is that our spirits go when we die, but that is not a chance I am willing to take. I _have_ forgiven him, Master Dwarf," Bard said to Kili. "But only after he swore to me upon his father's name and the name of Eru the Alfather that he will live and he will be happy after I am gone. I would not have it any other way."

Silence descended upon them again and Fili tried to grasp what he had just heard. It cast a new and terrible light on the Elf Fili had called his friend. If Tyelkormo was indeed the Celegorm of legend and myth, then _oh, the irony...!_ But also the grief and the power of an oath sworn by one of that House... Mind reeling, he turned to the man and mustered a sympathetic smile for his sake.

"Tyelkormo's brothers are probably debating whether to kill me now and be done with it or not, but it will not save him from grief, merely bring it about faster. Tyelkormo's father, at least, seems to understand that and I hope he does not hate me," Bard sighed and turned to Thorin. "So, my Lord, this is the unforeseen and unwanted complication I bring into your company if you will have me. Although I promise that not another word on this will ever leave my lips and these private matters will be kept private henceforth."

Thorin said nothing, merely pressed a hand over his mouth and stared ahead thoughtfully.

"Forgive me, I have said too much and I should not have subjected you to such an odd confession. But I must ask you to keep these things to yourselves, for Tyelkormo's sake. I know he would be angry and insulted if you were to look upon us with pity and bemoan what surely seems like a tragic fate."

"I wouldn't even dream it," Bofur said. "No worries, none of us shall speak a word about this. And you should know, I wield a mean mattock," Bofur leaned closer to Bard and gave him a cheeky smile. "In case you found it and you're about to return it to me, I'll defend you from those murderous brothers."

_Ah, dear old Bofur, always going for humor, although there was always such a gleefully sadistic ring to it,_ Fili thought. But the uncomfortable atmosphere lifted and it was just as well, because the road had broken free of the corn fields and delivered them into the heart of a noisy square, filled with the clangor of people and farm animals and the cacophony of smiths applying themselves to their tasks.


End file.
